


Reunion

by Junkfoodmonkey



Series: Qumar [6]
Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 82,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junkfoodmonkey/pseuds/Junkfoodmonkey
Summary: A decision to spare one life and a decision to take another are about to have terrible consequences for the team.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my longest, and most brutal story. All the whumping you can ask for. All the team's chickens are coming home to roost.

_June 1994_

Murdock hit the top note at the end of _Torno A Surriento_ and two dogs began to howl. A baby started to cry. A man threw open a window and yelled a stream of invective at the passing gondola.

“Murdock, I think people are trying to sleep,” Hannibal said.

“Yeah, be quiet, fool. You can’t sing.”

Murdock ignored BA’s words and started to sing _O Sole Mio._

Face smiled sheepishly at the gondolier sitting beside him. The man was staring up at Murdock, who was wearing the gondolier’s straw hat and would have been wearing his striped shirt if only Murdock had had a few more lira.

“Be kind of ironic,” Hannibal said. “After all we’ve been through, to end our days, by being lynched by an mob of angry Venetians who need to get up early.” He grinned.

The man who’d shouted at them first was now arguing with another man at a window on the other side of the canal. The dogs were still howling.

“Seriously, Murdock, knock it off,” Face pleaded. “It’s after midnight.”

But Murdock was in a world of his own. Face sighed and turned to Hannibal and BA.

“You guys want to go for a drink before we turn in? We found this really nice little café bar last night, just a couple of blocks away. You should see the waitresses.” He turned to Murdock again. “Tell them about the waitresses in that café we found.”

“Molto belle.” Murdock kissed the tips of his fingers on one hand. “Molto belle.”

“Sorry, Face, I can’t do the late nights any more,” Hannibal said. “I need my bed.”

“And I gotta get up early to get a souvenir for Mama before we leave.”

“Okay. Hey, Mario Lanza, you want to grab a grappa with me?”

“Sì,” Murdock said. “Sì, Faccia.”

“Right.” Face shook his head. “Boy, I can’t wait till we get back to some place English speaking. No offence,” he added looking at the gondolier, who just looked puzzled.

Murdock manoeuvred them up to the landing stage as if he’d been a gondolier since he was a boy. BA got out first, turned back to give Hannibal a hand up. Face took out his wallet to pay off the gondolier, added an extra large tip and a smile. Murdock gave the man his hat back.

“See you guys in the morning,” Hannibal said. “Don’t be too late. We’re booked on that eleven a.m. train to Rome.”

They went their separate ways. As they vanished around corners the gondolier took out a cell phone and dialled.

“I just dropped them off.” He spoke in English, with an American accent. “But there’s a problem. They split up.”

~~~~

Hannibal lit a cigar as he and BA strolled towards the hotel, a couple of blocks from the landing stage. The sound of the lapping water of the canal faded. The dark streets were quiet and deserted. Only their footsteps and the occasional yowl of a cat from an alley broke the peace of the night.

“Looking forward to going to Rome?” Hannibal asked BA.

“Yeah, man. I should be able to pick up some great souvenirs from the Vatican for my Mama.”

Hannibal smiled. BA would have to buy himself an extra suitcase soon to pack all the various bits of memorabilia he’d picked up on their journey around the tourist traps of Europe. His mother would need to clear a serious amount of shelf space when they got back to the states.

“It’s nice to see exotic locales without anybody trying to kill us,” Hannibal mused. “I really needed this vacation.”

“Yeah. That last job was tough. But at least we got a big pay off.”

Big enough for the four of them to enjoy a tour of Europe together. They’d done France already, moved on to Italy and had spent three days in Venice and were heading for Rome and then Florence. After that, well they were still arguing over whether to head to Greece or Spain. But there was no hurry to decide.

There was one deadline and that really only applied to Hannibal.

“You looking forward to going back to Paris?” BA asked.

Hannibal smiled. He certainly was. “Yep. Two weeks time and you guys are dropped like hot potatoes.”

BA chuckled and Hannibal blew a smoke ring and grinned.

“You said you was giving those things up.”

“What, just when I finally got really good at smoke rings?”

BA chuckled again, shaking his head. “Maggie will make you give ’em up.”

“She hasn’t even tried. She knows she can’t change me.”

“Man, ain’t no woman ever believed that.”

Hannibal puffed the cigar contentedly. No, BA was wrong. Maggie was too smart to think she could change Hannibal. Not at his… not now.

As much as he was enjoying his time with the guys he was really looking forward to having a little quality time with Maggie. They’d been together seriously nearly a year. Since his life was more settled now, Hannibal had decided it was time to look into some of the things he’d missed out on. Grab them before it was too late. One of those things was Maggie.

He didn’t go on many missions any more. When he did it was to hand-hold clients and co-ordinate things from base. Face was in command in the field. And Hannibal was proud of him, of the way he handled…

A woman screamed.

~~~~

“Italy sure is a beautiful country,” Murdock said, with a sigh, watching their waitress walk away.

“Yeah…” Face agreed. Then he shook himself. “Come on help me with these postcards.” They had a small pile of the cards on the highly polished wooden table top. A checker board pattern was inlaid into the wood and at a table in the corner two ancient looking men, one of them a priest, were playing chess. The smell of coffee filled the café and the big cappuccino machine gurgled and hissed. Murdock decided he could stay in here drinking espresso all night. The café was off the tourist routes and they were the only foreigners. But the staff were friendly and even put up with his terrible Italian.

Murdock scribbled a postcard to Amy. The card had a picture of The Grand Canal on the front of it and the word ‘Venice’ in large letters. On the back Murdock wrote: ‘Greetings from Barcelona. Hey, it’s so strange, all the streets are flooded and the people here speak Italian. You know I think we might not be in Spain after all. I knew we should have taken that left turn at Marseilles. Love, Murdock.’ He stuck a stamp on it, then sipped his coffee, sat watching Face writing industriously on the cards. Murdock frowned. Face needed to learn to relax.

Face had kept them all very busy on their vacation so far, “doing” Europe, like typical American tourists. He’d chivvied them around all the sights and if they once flagged, or suggested it might be nicer to spend the afternoon in a pavement café watching the girls go by, rather than foot slogging around another art gallery, he came out with the refrain “you might never get the chance to see this again.”

After this vacation was over, Murdock decided, he would drop Face off somewhere with no tourist sights, no art galleries, no museums, no nothing, except a beach, and a cooler full of beer. And no means of getting back. Now that was a vacation. Of course, he thought, with a smile, Face would probably scam something and be home before Murdock himself.

“Are you going to write any more cards, or are you just going to sit there with a silly grin on your face?”

Murdock gave an even sillier grin and took a card. He addressed it to Frankie Santana, then wrote. ‘Hello from Moscow. It’s not nearly as cold here as I expected…’

~~~~

Hannibal and BA were instantly alert as the shriek cut through the air.

“Where?” Hannibal snapped. Not inside a house. Outside, not far away. BA pointed to an alley and they ran to it, stopped short of the corner. Hannibal peeked round into the alley. Just for a second, but long enough to take in the scene.

“Blind alley,” he said to BA. “Two guys have got a girl in there. I don’t think she wants their company.”

BA’s scowl deepened. “Just two? Let’s get ’em.”

Hannibal nodded. Easy enough. BA could probably take the two of them out himself. Nice little present for the Venetian police, courtesy of the A-Team. He just hoped it wouldn’t end up delaying their departure tomorrow.

“Let’s go.” They went around the corner. They stayed close to the wall and were halfway down the alley when the young woman being pulled around by two men spotted them.

“Aiuto!” she shouted. “Aiuto, signori, per favore!”

Hannibal and BA broke into a run and were on the two men before they finished turning around. The woman screamed and ran past towards the street. It was over in seconds. The attackers were quickly dropped in a heap on the ground.

“Nice, BA,” Hannibal said. “Let’s make sure the girl’s okay then call the cops.”

“Yeah.” They started to turn. Dark shapes rushed at them. Too many. Heavily outnumbered Hannibal and BA fell almost as quickly as the two men they had just dealt with and hit the ground beside them, unconscious.

~~~~

Face dropped the stack of postcards into the mail box and caught up to Murdock. Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed two. Murdock yawned and stretched.

“I think I’ll sleep all the way to Rome tomorrow,” he said.

“But you’ll miss all the scenery,” Face protested. “That’s the point of travelling by train, to see the countryside.”

“You can tell me about it later,” Murdock said. “Anyway I’ve done Venice to Rome by train before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, but if I told you about it I’d have to kill you, so…”

A woman’s scream pierced the night air, making Murdock gasp.

“What the hell?” Face said. “Where did that come from?”

“This way I think.” Murdock hurried off, towards an alleyway. A glance around the corner told him all he needed to know.

“Couple of guys making a nuisance of themselves to a lady,” he reported to Face and gave him a speculative look.

“Let’s go,” Face said, with a small sigh. If he ruined this suit he’d only just bought a week ago in Paris someone was going to pay, heavily. They stepped into the alleyway.

“Hey, fellas,” Face called. “This a private party?” The two men turned.

“Get lost, Yankees,” one of them snarled.

When Face and Murdock didn’t, one of the men stayed where he was, holding onto the young woman, and the other started coming up the alley. He pulled something from a pocket, there was a metallic sound and steel flashed in the moonlight.

“Oh boy,” Face said. “Okay, I’ll take flick-knife, you get his friend.” The knife wielding man smirked wolfishly at Face.

“Roger,” Murdock snapped, moved fast, as if to go past the man with the knife. He didn’t pass. He grabbed the man’s wrist, spun with him, slammed him up against the wall. Face ran past them towards the other man, who came running to meet him. Face blocked a swing from the attacker, and pounded his fist into the man’s gut, doubling him up, and smashing his face into Face’s knee as it came up fast. Face heard a crack and the man howled in pain, fell down holding his nose, which was pouring with blood.

“Great,” Face muttered. That blood would never come out of his pants. He turned away to help out Murdock. A shadow fell onto him, a man jumping down from a fire escape. Face collapsed under the weight of his attacker and hit the debris littered ground, all his breath forced out in a rush. The man whose nose Face had just broken lashed out with a foot from his sitting position and kicked Face hard in the back.

Face moaned and struggled to get out from under the man on top of him. More men were piling into the alley. Trapped.

“Murdock!” Face gasped, before a boot smashed into the side of his head and sent him spinning down into darkness.

~~~~

When Murdock saw Face taken out he lost all restraint. He’d intended to disarm his assailant without permanent damage, but the situation had changed in an instant and Murdock changed with it. He grabbed the man’s arm in both hands and brought it down hard across the edge of a metal garbage can, heard bones break before the sound was drowned by the scream. The man fell to his knees and Murdock kicked him away then snatched the dropped knife up from the ground.

Men poured into the alleyway. Trapped. Face was down and Murdock had no chance of getting to him. Several men came at Murdock.

“Get back!” Murdock yelled, brandishing the knife. They hesitated. Murdock hoped none of them wanting to be the first to tackle the wild-eyed, knife-wielding maniac.

“You think you can take us all out with that little thing?” A voice came from the back of the group of men. A voice Murdock knew, from a long time ago. The men parted and the speaker stepped up. “Even you can’t be that crazy.”

“You want to bet on that?” Murdock said, controlling his surprise, keeping his voice hard.

“No, I don’t.” Douglas Kyle pulled a gun, pointed it at Murdock and pulled the trigger. Murdock gasped, but what he felt wasn’t the punch of a bullet, more like a bee sting. He grabbed at his chest, pulled free a dart. Kyle watched him, grim faced. The rest of the men grinned.

“You…” Murdock began, then staggered forward, towards Kyle. He tried to wield the knife, but his fingers had gone numb and clumsy. Kyle knocked Murdock’s arm aside. Murdock heard the knife skitter away across the ground. Darkness rushed him and he stumbled, fell into Kyle’s arms.

Kyle tossed the limp Murdock to two other men.

“Get them ready. We’re already behind schedule. I want to be in Albania by tonight.”


	2. Chapter 2

The house was distinguishable from the mountainside only by virtue of its severe straight lines and black shark eyed windows. Its walls were as grey as the rocks that surrounded them. A recent downpour had soaked the lethally steep slate roof leaving it glistening in the watery late afternoon light.

Why this place? Kyle wondered, as the helicopter approached. Of course it was remote. About as remote as remote got, and this job needed privacy.

He glanced around the interior of the big helicopter. Anyone else might think this was a mercy mission, seeing four unconscious men on stretchers, oxygen masks over their faces. Unless they looked at the way the men were strapped down.

The helicopter touched down in a large yard in front of the house. The landing area was near the edge of a flat ledge that had been blasted out the mountainside more than a hundred years ago and the blades stuck out over open space. Kyle would hate to land here in really bad weather. One gust at the wrong moment and you’d be tumbling down the vicious drop. He’d employed two pilots and they were the best. The best he could afford that is.

“Anderson, get them unloaded and into their cells,” Kyle ordered. “Make sure they’re watched till they come around.”

Anderson, the man who’d been in charge of the squad that took out Hannibal and BA, nodded and started giving orders to the men.

Kyle ran from the helicopter, into the house. Inside was as grey as outside and about as welcoming. Cold oozed from the stone walls and the flagstones. God, it was June! Kyle thought. Was this damn country so poor they couldn’t even afford summer? He made a mental note to make sure the house had been well stocked with firewood. In the entrance hall Kyle met a solidly built, dark haired man. Tattoos covered the man’s arms like the sleeves of a sweater. He was eating a sandwich.

“Hello, Berry.”

“Evening, Kyle,” Berry said, in a British accent. “Any trouble?”

“None. He here yet?”

“No, arriving in the morning last we heard.”

“Okay, help Anderson get them in. I’m going upstairs. Report when they’re secured.”

“Right, boss.”

Kyle climbed a bare stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and strode down a wood panelled passageway. He knew the way, had been here several weeks ago. Dim gas lamps, high on the walls, widely and irregularly spaced, gave him barely enough light to see his way. He would have a couple of the men string some cable through here tomorrow, get some electric lights set up. Banish the shadows that hugged the walls and pooled in alcoves. Most of the alcoves were empty, but ugly statues lurked in a few. Kyle guessed previous residents had abandoned the statues, no doubt with sighs of relief.

He swore as he stumbled down two steps that were there for no damn reason he could see and had no light fittings anywhere near them. A man could break his neck. He opened the door he found at the end of the passageway and went into a room that had been set up as a sitting room. It was currently as dim as the corridor and Kyle quickly crossed to a table and switched on a lamp, flooding the panelled room with a warm glow. He searched a couple of cupboards until he found the one with bottles of liquor in it. He poured a liberal glass of whiskey and with a sigh he sank into one of the chairs by the cold fireplace. He lit a cigarette.

He hoped his employer would arrive soon. The quicker this job was over the quicker he could take his money and get the hell out of this vile house to some place hot and sunny.

~~~~

Hannibal woke.

He lay completely still, eyes closed. This was certainly not the cosy little Venetian hotel they’d been staying in. He was lying on a hard bunk with no mattress and covered by a thin blanket. He was naked under the blanket. Even with his eyes closed he knew the room he was in was brightly lit.

The last thing he remembered was walking to the hotel, with BA, then a woman screaming, a fight and… nothing.

Was BA here? And where was here?

He opened his eyes and squinted as bright light dazzled him. He turned his head away instinctively. He was in a cell. Stone, windowless. The ceiling was low, and had three fluorescent tube lights on it. Too many for the size of the room, making it painfully bright. On the wall across from his bunk a pair of manacles was attached to the wall, hanging limp but menacing, promising pain later. There was a bucket in the corner. All the mod cons, Hannibal thought, bitterly. The door. The door was iron and… Hannibal’s heart began to race with sudden shock. The door had an observation hatch and he was being observed. A man’s face was gazing in at him. He bit back an exclamation.

“You awake, Smith?”

Hannibal didn’t answer.

“Fine. If you’re still asleep we won’t bother giving you any din… food.”

Dinner. Evening. But which evening?

“I’m awake,” Hannibal said. To be honest food didn’t appeal much. His head was spinning and he was sick to his stomach, from drugs, he guessed. But he was thirsty. The man’s face vanished as the observation hatch slid closed. In a moment a hatch in the bottom of the door was opened and a tray pushed through.

“Bon appetit,” a mocking voice said from the other side of the door.

Hannibal ignored that, retrieved the tray and began to eat.

~~~~

How long had he been down? Face wondered as he ate the sandwich from his tray of food. The bread was coarse and not very fresh. He drank from the paper cup of water to help him choke it down. Always eat, even if you’re not hungry, his training told him. You don’t know when you’ll get the chance again.

He considered his position. He had to assume Murdock was a prisoner too. But what about Hannibal and BA? Were they here too? Or were they on their way to the rescue? He glanced around his bare cell and shivered. He pulled the blanket closer around his naked body. The bright lights were giving him a headache. No, strike that, a worse headache.

Where the hell was he?

~~~~

Kyle almost fell asleep in the chair. He hadn’t slept much the last couple of days. Getting the prisoners from Venice to Albania had been tricky. The only way to transport the A-Team safely was heavily drugged. On the other hand he had to deliver them alive. If he had opened the crates they’d brought the team through the airport in to find one of them had choked on his tongue or something, well that would have been… annoying. The doctor had told Kyle to be sure the prisoners were monitored constantly while unconscious.

The only time that wasn’t possible was coming through customs. So Kyle had avoided Tirana, the capital city, going instead to a small airport, where delay was minimal, and, after the distribution of a suitable amount of money, customs inspections were non-existent.

The helicopter had been waiting for them at the airport and they’d taken the team from the coffin like crates and transferred them onto stretchers. To an outsider they looked like patients not prisoners. Except for the restraints, that is. Of course you strapped down patients in a helicopter to stop them falling from the stretchers in case of air turbulence. But usually with straps across the chest and legs, not wrists and ankles.

The door opening woke Kyle from his doze. He snapped back to alertness in an instant as Anderson and Berry came in.

“Christ, I hate this country,” Berry complained. “It’s bloody hailing out there now.”

“You got them in their cells?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, all nice and snug,” Berry reported. He glanced at the liquor bottles. Kyle waved a hand at them.

“Have a drink.”

Berry quickly poured himself a generous whiskey and sat in one of the other easy chairs. He took cigarettes from his pocket and accepted a light from Kyle. Anderson stayed standing.

“Relax, Jack,” Kyle said, frowning at the tense looking Anderson. “We’re back on schedule.”

“And we’ve got the night to ourselves before Mr S. arrives,” Berry said. “And plenty of quality booze.” He grinned.

“Kyle,” Anderson said. “There’s something you need to see.”

~~~~

BA ate his food and drank his water. Then he stood up and swung the tray at the lights over his head. A couple of blows knocked the plastic cover off one of them. He heard men shouting outside the door. Keys rattled in the lock. Another swing and a tube shattered, raining fine glass down onto the stone floor. He was working on knocking the cover off the second one when the door opened and men piled into the cell.

He knocked one man down with the tray before that was smashed out of his hands. Took a couple more down with his bare hands before their numbers overwhelmed him and dragged him to the floor. Glass from the broken light bit into his unprotected skin. Then he felt the all too familiar prick of a needle in his arm, and the men’s yelling became distant. Somewhere he heard a voice. A voice he thought he knew. But he couldn’t think… Darkness.

~~~~

“What the hell is going on?” Kyle demanded.

A dishevelled guard staggered out of the cell.

“Baracus went nuts,” he reported. “Started smashing the lights. We had to take him down.” He shook his head. “That guy’s an animal. Can we get a cattle prod for dealing with him?”

“A taser might be a good idea,” Anderson suggested to Kyle.

“By the time we get a couple of those we’ll be done here,” Kyle said with a shrug. “Repair the lights,” he ordered the guard. In the cell several men were hauling BA onto the bunk.

Kyle and Anderson walked away.

“I’m not so sure, Kyle,” Anderson said. “About us being done here as soon as you think we will be.”

Kyle looked at him questioningly, but Anderson didn’t elaborate. He led Kyle on, past the cell that Kyle knew held Murdock, rounded a corner and went down narrow steps. They must be below ground level now, Kyle thought. Typical that this place had a dungeon. Electrical cable had been strung down here and bright lamps lit the stone walls. They came to an iron door.

“This has been set up to the precise specs he ordered,” Anderson said. “The men just finished working on it yesterday.” He opened the door and turned on the light. Kyle walked in, stopped and stared.

~~~~

Murdock heard a lot of yelling and shouting somewhere outside his cell door. Running footsteps pounded past. Someone was making trouble. Face?

He paced restlessly. He’d eaten his food and was wondering what he could do with the empty tray and what was on it. Very little. Flimsy plastic tray, paper cup, paper plate. Nothing there to help him escape. These guys were cautious. Seems Kyle had learnt from the last time he went up against the team. He’d woefully underestimated them then. Looked like he wasn’t making the same error this time.

The yelling and running calmed down. After a while a man came to the observation hatch and looked inside. Murdock turned to look back at him, determined not to show any embarrassment at being naked. That was the intent, to humiliate him. Well that wasn’t going to work.

“Shove the tray against the hatch,” the man ordered. His English was accented, German or Austrian, Murdock guessed.

“If I don’t?” Murdock asked, in a conversational tone.

“We come in and get it. You won’t enjoy that.”

Murdock shoved the tray over to the door with his foot. The hatch in the bottom of the door opened and the tray was pulled out. The guard took another look inside.

“How’s the weather?” Murdock asked, pleasantly. The guard didn’t answer. The hatch slid closed.

Rest, Murdock decided. His head was pounding from the drugs he’d been given, and from the horrible bright light over his head. He picked up the blanket and wrapped it around himself, lay on the bunk face down, head pillowed on his crossed arms.

Who else was a prisoner? Face for sure. But had they gone after Hannibal and BA too? Or were he and Face being used to lure them? Probably not. That hadn’t worked out too well for Kyle before, thinking he’d capture Hannibal when he came to rescue the rest of them. And clearly the man was learning. It sounded like he had a lot of men out there. Had realised that a better ratio than 1:1 was needed to deal with the team. Murdock had a bad feeling that the whole team were prisoners here.

Murdock began to drift, the lingering traces of the drugs in his system making him drowsy. He didn’t fight it. As he slipped down into sleep he comforted himself with the one possible advantage he had. The one thing Kyle didn’t know that Murdock knew and he was willing to bet he wasn’t supposed to know.

_“I want to be in Albania by tonight,”_ were the last words Murdock had heard before he lost consciousness in that alley in Venice.

Murdock knew where they were.

~~~~

The floor and walls were covered with white ceramic tiles. Kyle and Anderson’s studded boots made loud chinking noises as they walked into the room.

“Easy to wash down,” Anderson commented. He waved a hand at the big metal sink on the wall, at the hose stored beside it. The floor sloped gently, towards a drain along the bottom of the same wall as the sink.

Kyle didn’t look at that. He was looking at the metal table in the middle of the floor.

“I think it’s an old operating table,” Anderson said. “God knows where he got it from.” The table was currently flat, but looked as if it was fully adjustable into any number of angles. Leather restraint straps were attached to it. “Take a look at this.” Anderson showed Kyle various pieces of machinery pushed against the wall. One looked like a hospital heart monitor. Another had dials and switches, and curled neatly on top, lengths of wire, each ending in an electrode.

Kyle looked at the wall. Chains and manacles, in bright new steel were fixed to it. Empty. Waiting.

“You should see what’s in this cupboard.”

Kyle followed Anderson to a metal cupboard standing against a wall. It looked like the sort of cabinet you might find in a workshop. When Anderson opened it something rattled. A rack was attached to the inside of the door, holding a long cane, a short leather whip and a cat-o-nine tails. The shelves inside the cupboard held various tools, and, in flat trays, medical instruments, including scalpels.

The bottom of the cupboard had a deep drawer, locked with a padlock. Kyle bent down, rattled the padlock.

“I’d guess that’s drugs, needles, medical shit,” Anderson said.

Kyle straightened up.

“And watch this.” Anderson went to the light switch by the door. It was part of a panel and he flicked another button. The lights went out and then a strobe light, directly above the table started to flash. Another flick and noise started, from speakers, high in each corner. Horrible noise. Shrieking that sounded like it was recorded in hell itself.

Kyle stood that for about five seconds, then walked over, feeling like he was a bad stop motion special effect in the strobe light and flicked the switches to shut off the noise and the flashing light.

The room went dark. The light through the open door threw both men’s features into deep shadow. Anderson looked at Kyle, who had not spoken a word since he came into the room. He spoke.

“Sevchenko’s gonna kill these guys, like he said. But, fuck, Doug, it’s not gonna be quick.”


	3. Chapter 3

Kyle, Anderson and Berry stood at the door watching the helicopter land. Berry groaned and held his head at the noise. Kyle scowled at him.

“You get drunk again and I’ll toss you down the mountain.”

“Sorry, pal,” Berry said, sounding far from contrite.

Kyle fumed silently. To think he used to work with the best, now he was stuck with these clowns.

Ken Berry claimed he’d been dishonourably discharged from the British army for using excessive force against the enemy. So far the only excessive force Kyle had seen him employ was against stubborn beer bottle caps. Anderson wasn’t much better. Said he was ex-Delta Force. He probably hadn’t even seen the damn movie. This is what I’ve been reduced to, Kyle thought. And worst of all, I’m reduced to working for this…

Four men got off the helicopter and hurried towards the house. Several of Kyle’s men got off after them, carrying luggage.

“Mr Kyle,” one of the four called, in an eastern European accent. “Are they here, Mr Kyle, are they here?”

“They’re here, Se… Mr Sevchenko.”

They all went inside. Sevchenko, a small balding man, in a neatly pressed grey suit, shook Kyle’s hand enthusiastically.

“Well done, Mr Kyle, I knew if anyone could bring them in it was you. You haven’t met my colleagues.” He introduced each of them in turn, first a man who could have been his brother, was just as grey and unassuming. “Doctor Markovic. And this is Mr Kuprin and Mr Sokoll.” Kuprin and Sokoll were big men, their handshakes crushing. Kuprin had a wide, hungry smile. Sokoll had an intense stare and looked as if he was already planning how he would dispose of your body even while he was shaking your hand. Those two did the dirty work, Kyle guessed.

“Do you want to see them?” Kyle asked.

“Soon, soon,” Sevchenko said, rubbing his hands. “We shall get settled in first. Have your men bring up our bags.”

Now I’m a concierge, Kyle thought, as he nodded at his disgruntled looking men, who were under the impression they were mercenaries, not porters. Kyle retreated to the sitting room and sat in front of the fire, smoking a cigarette. Outside it began to rain. He watched the window stream with water. He’d been alone for barely five minutes when Sevchenko and Markovic came in, talking to each other in Russian, a language Kyle had only ever learned enough of to get himself a drink and a woman. Sevchenko was carrying a cardboard box, which he put down on a table. The two Russians looked at Kyle and Markovic said something in Russian to Sevchenko.

“Ah, Mr Kyle,” Sevchenko said, “the doctor asks that you please not smoke in here. He’s rather sensitive.” Markovic spoke again in a low voice. “And I’m sure you know it’s really not good for you,” Sevchenko added.

Kyle looked at the two of them with narrowed eyes. And he knew it wasn’t a request. He tossed his cigarette into the fireplace.

“Thank you, very kind.”

I could kill the pair of you without breaking a sweat, Kyle thought. Out loud he said, “your accommodations okay?”

“Oh, yes, rather basic, but they will serve.” Basic? Kyle found them luxurious. But when your frame of reference was prison then most places were luxurious by comparison. He frowned as he watched Sevchenko open the box he’d brought in. The Russian took four bottles of Champagne out of it . And not just any Champagne.

“Is that…?” Kyle began.

“Cristal, yes.” Sevchenko looked lovingly at the bottle he held. “The Champagne of the Tsars. First created for Alexander II, in 1876.” He carefully placed each bottle onto a shelf. “I must ask that no-one touches these, please. They are for a very special purpose.”

Kyle looked at him speculatively.

“Four bottles, Mr Kyle. One for each member of the A-Team.”

Kyle frowned, entirely baffled now. “You’re going to give them Champagne?”

Sevchenko laughed and spoke in Russian to Markovic, who also laughed. Kyle’s fists clenched.

“No, Mr Kyle, I’m going to toast them. Or rather, their deaths. As each one dies…” He nodded at the bottles, “We shall drink to him.”

~~~~

It took a good ten minutes before Hannibal could get up after he woke. The cold and the hard bunk had left his joints painfully stiff. Eventually though he managed to get the tray of food the guards had pushed through the door. Water again and bread and cheese. He tried to pretend it was bacon and eggs.

He would kill several people for a cup of coffee right now. He didn’t even dare think about what he would do for a cigar. The cravings were biting down to the the bone.

When he finished eating he sat with his eyes closed, breathing very slowly. And listened. He could hear men moving around outside the cell, tried to work out how many. How many now? More or less than last night? And he listened hardest of all for a voice he knew. For BA, or Face or Murdock. Dreaded to hear one of the last two. That would mean they were all here, which meant no rescue was coming. It was a smart move, taking them while they were on vacation. It would be days before they were even missed.

No use thinking about that, first he had to find out if they were all here. Only one way he could think of to do that at the moment. He got up and stood near the door. The next man who opened that observation hatch was going to get one hell of a shock.

~~~~

Kyle and Sevchenko walked into the corridor where Hannibal and Face’s cells were located. Kuprin and Sokoll followed.

“Baracus and Murdock are on the next level down.” Kyle reported. “Exact same layout.” He nodded at the guards. “I’ve got the men on rotating shifts, there’s four here at all times. And they all carry walkie talkies so they can call for backup instantly.”

“How many men do you have here in total?”

“Eighteen, not including myself.”

“Excellent. Very good security. Now, I think I will start with a chat with Colonel Smith.”

“You want him secured before you go in there?”

“Yes, it would be advisable. Use the wall chains.”

“Right.” Kyle gestured at a guard, pointed at Hannibal’s cell door. “Check him.”

The guard nodded and slid open the observation hatch. None of the men were expecting the voice that roared out. A voice trained to make itself heard across a battlefield.

“A-TEAM! SOUND OFF!”

“Christ!” The guard who’d opened the hatch reeled back. Kyle sprang forward to close it, but not before they all heard the voice behind them reply, muffled by the iron door, but also trained to be heard.

“Peck! Fit to fight!”

“Not for much longer, Peck,” Kyle growled. “Not for much longer.”

He turned to Sevchenko, who had gone quite pale.

“Sorry about that. I guess he’s trying to find out who else is with him.” He scowled at the guards. “I don’t want them figuring out who’s where.” He knew any information they gained could help them with an escape attempt. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

Sevchenko smoothed down his jacket, gathered himself. “Never mind. He’ll soon learn that we have all of his friends here. And what we intend to do to them. Secure him.”

~~~~

Hannibal sat down on his bunk when the hatch slammed shut. Face. Dammit. Face was here, so that meant Murdock probably was too.

And that hadn’t been the biggest surprise. No the biggest surprise had been whose face Hannibal had seen briefly as the hatch slammed closed.

Kyle. Dougie Kyle. Where the hell had he sprung from? He knew Kyle had got out of prison over two years ago now, had worried the he might go after the team in revenge, but nothing had happened and Hannibal had concluded that Kyle must have decided not to go making the same mistake twice. Well it looked like he’d underestimated the man’s stupidity. He almost felt cheered up. After all they’d beaten Kyle before. It seemed he’d got himself a few more friends this time, but being outnumbered was Hannibal’s speciality.

The keys rattled and the door opened. Several men rushed at Hannibal. He offered no resistance as they dragged him over to the opposite wall and chained him to the manacles there. So Kyle’s afraid to face me with my hands free? Hannibal thought. Hell, in his mind I’ve already got him beaten. He pasted an annoying smile on his face, and tried to think up the best quip he could. Something about Kyle losing his hair, maybe? Maybe say if Dougie wanted a date he should have just called Hannibal with a dinner invite. He knew how to get under this guy’s skin, how to make him get stupid…

And when Kyle walked in Hannibal’s smile faded, because of who walked in with him.

Eight years had passed now, since Hannibal had shaken the hand of a CIA officer in Jordan and given a mocking wave goodbye to four KGB men he’d brought from the prison camp in Qumar. Four men who had tortured Murdock and Frankie, and had been preparing to start on the rest of the team until their interrogation had been interrupted by the prisoner uprising.

And this was the man who’d led those torturers. Vassily Sevchenko.

Hannibal had learned the man’s name later, both from a CIA contact and from Faris Madari, because this was the man who a year prior to that prison break had personally wielded the the pliers that tore out Madari’s fingernails. This was a man who’d tortured scores of people. A man Hannibal hoped was going to spend the rest of his life in some secret CIA prison. And now he was here.

Sevchenko stopped, well out of range of Hannibal’s jerk forward, brought up short by the manacles. Hannibal pulled hard on them, but the bolt fixing the chains to the wall was solid. Quips and jokes were the furthest thing from Hannibal’s mind now, he felt he wanted to snarl like an animal at this creature. But he took a deep breath and restrained himself. When he spoke it was in a cold voice.

“I should have let Madari shoot you in the head.”

“But you didn’t, Colonel. You saved my life that day.” He smiled, smug. “And they do say don’t they, that no good deed goes unpunished.” Then his face hardened. “If only you had shown the same mercy to Viktor.”

“Svidler?” Hannibal said, Viktor Svidler, the revenge crazed rouge KGB bastard who’d killed Stockwell.

“Yes. Colonel Viktor Svidler. My commander. My friend. You killed him, now you pay.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Hannibal said. He saw fury twist Sevchenko’s bland face. Ah, Hannibal thought, let’s try that lever a little more. “I’ve thought about that day often, about having to put a bullet in his heart. About what it meant for me to do that again after so long.” He gave a wide and vicious smile. “And I have to say I loved every second of it and I’d do it again right now if I could.”

Sevchenko gave a strangled exclamation, darted forward and slapped Hannibal with an open palm then hurriedly stepped back, well away from him again.

Hannibal sneered at the pathetic blow. “Oh, you were very fond of Viktor, weren’t you? Were you his special friend, Vassily. Did you two share bodily warmth in those cold Siberian nights?” He grinned, suggestively. Sevchenko was red faced with rage now.

“Quiet!” He shouted. He nodded at Kyle, who stepped up, and punched Hannibal in the gut. Hannibal gasped, coughed, couldn’t double up properly held by the chains, instinctively pulled one leg up towards his body to try to ease the pain. He watched Sevchenko compose himself.

“All right, Colonel Smith, you have had your chance to make your ridiculous jokes. Mr Kyle warned me of your foolishness. Now the time for jokes is over. All four of your A-Team are here. And all four of you are going to die here. But, believe me, death will not be easy or quick for any of you. Now…” He paused and he smiled. “I want something from you, John.”

Hannibal frowned. Sevchenko was changing right in front of him. His eyes were starting to shine, with pleasure. His voice became lower, almost silky and his accent came through more strongly. He was becoming his true self, Hannibal realised. Sevchenko the master interrogator. Vassily, the torturer. And he was loving it. Hannibal had to fight an instinct to back up as Sevchenko came closer to him. An instinct not of fear but of pure repulsion.

“I want something from you, John.” He moved closer still to Hannibal. Close enough that he could drop his voice even lower.

“I want to hear you scream.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Listen, I’ve been setting guys on fire since he was getting coffee for the assistant to the second unit assistant director. If I say it’ll work, it’ll work.” 

Frankie Santana pulled into his driveway, talking on his cell phone.

“Yeah, well if he has anything else to say you give him this number and he can say it to me…right… later.”

He hung up, turned off the ignition and got out of the car.

“Directors,” he muttered, locking the vehicle and turning towards the house. The warm late-afternoon sun felt good on his face, but he didn’t stand around to enjoy it. “Couple of years of film school and they think they know how to make a movie.” He let himself into the house. “Hey, hey, where’s the two prettiest girls in Hollywood?”

“Kitchen, Frankie,” A woman’s voice answered. Frankie went through to find his wife, Rosita, unloading the washing machine. A baby sat in a high chair, a pink ribbon in her fine dark hair. She laughed and banged her hands on the high chair’s tray when Frankie walked in. “Hi, honey,” Rosita said as Frankie kissed her on the cheek. “Good day?”

“Ah, directors,” Frankie said lifting the baby out of her chair. “Think they can learn how to make a movie in a classroom.” He sat on a high stool, bounced the baby gently on his knee. “You learn to make a movie on a set. Film school, I mean what is that? Did Steven Spielberg go to film school? Did Roger Corman go to film school?”

Rosita had heard the film school rant before. It went on for at least ten minutes if it wasn’t interrupted.

“I got a man in to fix the washing machine today,” she said.

“I would have done that,”

“I know, honey, but I needed it to be working… today I mean,” she added quickly. “For Isabel. You know how many clothes and bibs and things she gets through in a day. And the boys are just as bad.”

Frankie shrugged. He could have fixed the machine, he was sure. He’d fixed their old one when the spin cycle stopped working. Okay, so afterwards it had started spinning in the opposite direction than before and it danced around the kitchen like it was auditioning for Cabaret, but it worked, didn’t it? Women could be so fussy about details.

“A postcard came from the team,” Rosita said, nodding at a pile of correspondence on a worktop. Frankie stretched across to pick it up. He read the message and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Man, that Murdock, he gets crazier all the time.” He looked at the picture of St Mark’s Square on the front of the card, smiled as he imagined his friends enjoying themselves swanning around Europe. Isabel’s small eager hands reached for the card and Frankie let her take it. She started to chew on a corner. “How’d you like to go to Italy, Rosie?”

“I’ve been to Italy,” Rosita said, then smiled. “Of course it was the middle of winter and I spent the whole time making up extras to look like they had the black plague – take that off her will you – so I think a vacation there would be a nice change of pace. We could go later this year, before I go back to work.”

“Yeah…” Frankie said. He relieved Isabel of the now soggy cornered postcard and stroked her soft hair. She gurgled contentedly. “You know…” Frankie tried to sound casual. “There’s no hurry for that. The company is doing great, there’s plenty of money coming in.”

“I like working,” Rosita said, making a neat little pile of white bibs. “I’ll only take local jobs, like we said, nothing that takes me away on location.”

“Yeah.” Frankie sighed. He decided he really didn’t want to get in an argument about it now. Arguing always killed his appetite and unless his nose deceived him Rosie had roast pork in the oven.

“Oh, there was a phone call for you too,” Rosita said. “The number’s by the phone. It was a Mr Willis.”

“Willis?” Frankie looked speculative. “Bruce?”

“No, Frankie.” Rosita laughed, shook her head. “I don’t think it was Bruce Willis. He wouldn’t say what it was about, but he did say it was urgent.”

“You should have given him my cell number.”

“I did, but he said he couldn’t call you on that because it’s not secure.”

“Not secure?” Frankie laughed. “What is this guy, from the…” And he stopped laughing and he said the letters “C I A” very slowly.

“Frankie?” Rosita said, seeing the disturbed look on his face.

“Huh? Oh, uh sorry, Rosie, he’s just, um, this guy I met, you know, through the team. I… ah, he said it was urgent?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’d better go call him now.” He put Isabel back in her high chair, stroked her cheek absently. “I’ll call him from the den.”

“Okay. Well dinner is in an hour. The boys should be back in about twenty minutes. Will you get them washed up and ready to eat?”

“Huh?” Frankie looked at her for a moment, then her words sunk in. “Oh, yeah, sure. I just have to go call this guy.”

He found the number pinned on a cork board beside the kitchen phone and left the room, catching a glimpse of Rosita’s anxious expression as he closed the door.

Willis. Frankie remembered him like it was only yesterday. Agent Willis of the CIA had debriefed the A-Team when they came home from Qumar, eight years ago.

He hadn’t been the first agent assigned to the debriefing. They had started with a standard heavy in a black suit. And he sat Frankie down in a darkened windowless room and started firing questions at him. About the team, about Stockwell, about their mission in Qumar.

Frankie had freaked out.

He’d heard the others talk about having flashbacks, but never fully appreciated what that meant. Until it hit him. Until he was back there, tied to a chair in a stone cell, surrounded by terrifying men speaking Russian and Arabic, having needles pushed under his fingernails. Then he understood what ‘flashback’ actually meant. Not just to remember, but to relive. To be there again.

He ran, and when he couldn’t open the door, his still bandaged hands clumsy on the handle, he screamed. Seconds later the door was kicked in and Johnny barged into the room, demanding to know what the hell was going on.

Frankie hadn’t stuck around to hear what answers they had for the raging colonel. He kept on running until he found a window. Sunlight. It wouldn’t open. If he’d had the means to he’d have broken it, but he didn’t, so he just rested his forehead against it taking deep breaths, as if he could suck in the fresh air right through the glass. I won’t cry, he commanded himself. I won’t break down again.

Then a hand touched his back. He knew who it was without turning around. The cigar smoke smell that clung to Johnny’s clothes was all he needed. He knew the colonel must be able to feel him trembling, felt shame for that, felt weak. But felt safe.

Frankie clicked on the light in the den, trying to banish the layers of memories.

They hadn’t taken him into that “briefing room” again. After Hannibal chewed out the men in charge of the investigation they assigned Willis to the job of debriefing the team. His office had big windows, that opened, letting in the breeze. And it was messy, files and books piled on every surface, pictures arranged haphazardly on the wall. Most of the pictures were photographs, many of them of a woman and two small children. Willis himself was as rumpled as his office, his suit creased and his tie stained with baby food. He had a mug with ‘World’s greatest dad’, emblazoned on it. This man, Frankie realised was the nearest the CIA got to “cuddly”.

Willis supplied a friendly and sympathetic manner and a constant supply of coffee and snacks. Frankie sometimes felt as relaxed as if they were discussing sports, as opposed to a massive intelligence scandal that would ruin several high-flying political careers and eventually send General Stockwell to jail.

A herd of plastic dinosaurs had colonised Frankie’s desk. He moved some of them aside, sat down and dialled the number Rosita had taken down. He waited as it rang, staring off into space. The Aquamaniac stared back at him from the framed and signed lobby poster of “Aquamaniac’s Revenge.” He glanced at his watch as the phone continued to ring. It was after six; maybe the guy had gone home.

“Willis.” The voice came suddenly, sounding out of breath.

“Oh, hi, Agent Willis, it’s Frankie Santana, you left a…”

“Wait. Hang up. I’ll call you right back.”

The line went dead. Frankie stared at the receiver for a moment, then put it down. It rang immediately and he picked it up.

“Willis?”

“Mr Santana, thank you for returning my call. Do you remember me from…”

“Yeah,” Frankie interrupted him. “I know who you are.”

“Good, good. Mr Santana, I’m afraid I have some very bad news about the A-Team.”

~~~~

Screaming.

Screaming that had gone on for an un-guessable length of time.

Face lay on his bunk, fighting the urge to climb underneath it, as if he could hide there from the noise. Children did that, didn’t they? Hid under their beds, or in cupboards from scary sounds? Even from fire. He remembered little Jackie Bickham at the orphanage, brought in wrapped in a blanket late one night. Remembered hearing the fireman telling Father Magill that they’d pulled the boy out of a closet in his bedroom when they broke into his family’s burning house.

Face, Alvin, had been old enough then to know that was a crazy thing to do. You couldn’t hide from a fire and you couldn’t hide from this noise, the unspeakable shrieking that was being piped into his cell through some unseen speaker. It changed sometimes, not on any regular pattern you could start to get used to though. Right now it was the slaughter house, mixed with what sounded like a turbo charged dentist’s drill.

_Make it stop. Just make it stop. Please._

Make it stop! Murdock screamed silently in his head

Loud enough to be painful, horrible enough to fill his mind with vile images. It could have been going on for ten minutes or two days. There was no way of knowing, because even a minute of it was enough to turn your brain to splinters and make you want to poke your fingers so deep in your ears that they met in the middle.

But he couldn’t even put his hands over his ears, they were cuffed behind him. His feet were shackled and he was blindfolded. The cell was no longer cold, it was hot, hot as an oven. Murdock’s mouth was full of grit, he hadn’t a drop of spit.

“Water,” he moaned softly. “Give me some water, you bastards. Give me some god-damned water!” He yelled the last part, but couldn’t even hear it himself over the sickening noise.

The breath sobbed in his throat, painfully, like swallowing glass. How long he wondered. How long does this part go on? Because the worst thing was knowing that this wasn’t even the ‘real’ torture. Not yet.

Sevchenko, the vile little rat, had come into his BA’s cell and made gloating remarks about having missed their last appointment and rescheduling. BA had sneered and contemplated getting his hands around the Russian’s throat. _You hurt friends of mine. You’ll pay, you’ll pay._

“None of them is to be allowed to sleep. Make sure of it.” BA had heard Sevchenko tell Kyle. Snap his neck too, BA thought.

His cell was freezing now, colder than before. Cold enough to kill him? But he didn’t think he’d be allowed to die. This was just starting. BA knew what this was all about.

This wasn’t going to end quickly.

Hannibal knew that.

Softening up. You didn’t just dive in and and start attaching the electrodes, not if you were a pro. First the subject had to be properly prepared. Had to be in the right frame of mind.

Sleep deprived, confused, exhausted, beaten, degraded, terrified.

The noise and the blindfold had left Hannibal feeling like his mind was a jumble of jigsaw pieces, and there were plenty of bits missing. But a few pieces stayed together, a tiny island of sense, like a raft to hang onto. Sevchenko had to die. He should have died before. Hannibal had stopped it, and now he was paying for that act of mercy.

Helpless. Bound, blindfolded, mind screaming for water, terrified for his friends and of what was to to come. Yet Hannibal had an unshakable certainty that he could make Sevchenko die.


	5. Chapter 5

“Those guys must be basket cases by now,” Anderson said as he and Kyle and Berry ate breakfast together.

“That’s the idea,” Kyle said.

“Yeah,” Anderson said. “Three days of it now.” He shook his head. “The noise, no sleep, those two big bastards slapping them around…”

“Not feeling sorry for them, are you?” Kyle asked him.

“No, of course not, no skin off my nose what he does to ’em.” He pushed his eggs around his plate. Kyle frowned. Well that was just what they needed, Anderson going soft on them.

“You eating that bacon?” Berry asked Anderson and forked it off the plate when Anderson shook his head. Kyle glanced at Berry as he shoved the bacon into a folded slice of bread and started to wolf it down. Well the situation certainly wasn’t bothering that one, he thought.

As of this morning the situation was that all four A-Team members were well and truly softened up and Sevchenko was ready to “begin” he said. He’d spent most of the last three days sitting around talking with Markovic. The ‘big bastards’ Kuprin and Sokoll spent a lot of time down in the cells, roughing up the prisoners, but Sevchenko didn’t go down there himself, only asked for reports from his men. Like the team wasn’t even worthy of his attention in this phase of the game. They could be left to underlings.

Anderson pushed away his plate, leaving most of the food uneaten. “I’ll go check on the prisoners,” he said and walked out.

“He’s going to be a problem,” Berry said, spraying crumbs. Kyle nodded, drank off a cup of coffee and left Berry to finish off his own and Anderson’s breakfast.

Kyle went to the cells. He made an inspection three times a day. Sevchenko thought Kyle’s eighteen men were ‘good security’. Actually Kyle’s strategy was simply superior numbers. The men weren’t actually that good, so he’d made up for that by employing a lot of them. So far that strategy had worked. But one of these idiots was going to make a mistake, give the team a chance. So Kyle was using a business technique he’d read about. Micro-managing. Which was apparently something that you shouldn’t have to do if you had good people. He didn’t have good people, in any sense of the word. He arrived at Baracus and Murdock’s cell block just in time to catch one of the idiots making a mistake.

“Hey, breakfast, crazy man.”

Kyle shot across to the man shoving the tray with a cup of water and a slice of bread on it through the door hatch into Murdock’s cell. He pulled the man away by his collar, dragged him up to his feet.

“Why don’t you just give him your watch as well, you moron?”

The guard struggled. “What the hell…?”

“Don’t tell them what meal they’re getting!” Kyle ground out. “How many times do I have to repeat my orders?” He let the man go, pushed him away. “Go and report to Berry.”

The man grimaced. Berry was in charge of assigning the patrols outside the house. Maybe getting rained on all day would help this moron learn to follow orders. Kyle thought. The guard stamped off. Kyle watched him go, then turned to the others, who were watching him sulkily.

“Get a replacement down here.” One of them got on his radio. Kyle slid open the observation hatch in Murdock’s door. Murdock raised his head as light streamed into the pitch black cell. He’d found the breakfast tray and held the bread. His pale body was covered in bruises and scrapes. He wasn’t bound, or blindfolded. Just naked in the black cell. He was curled in on himself, protectively. Like an early human, Kyle thought, shivering naked in a dark cave, fearful of the animal noises outside. Murdock’s eyes were bruised, almost swollen closed. He turned them away from the light and began to eat the bread as fast as he could. Kyle closed the hatch again.

He went to the other door. A man stood there waiting with BA’s tray.

“Go on,” Kyle said. The man exchanged a look with the other guards. “What?” The reserve of patience Kyle had allotted to the day was already worn to the bone and it was only seven thirty. “Oh give it here.” He snatched the tray, slopping the water onto it. He slid open the hatch and pushed the tray inside. No need to announce it, Baracus knew what it was…

“Christ!” Kyle yelled, as his wrist was grabbed through the hatch. Hands with terrible strength in them yanked him. Kyle fell and was pulled until he was up to his shoulder through the hatch. Two of the guards dropped to their knees, started trying to pull Kyle back. Above them the remaining guard opened the observation hatch, started yelling in at BA.

“Let him go! Now! Let him go or I’ll shoot you!”

Kyle yelled with pain as his arm was twisted in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. A gunshot roared and Kyle heard it ricochet off the walls inside.

“Next one’s not a warning!” the guard yelled.

The grip on his arm was released and Kyle and the two guards trying to pull him away from BA all fell back in a heap. They lay panting for a moment.

“He tries that every time,” the standing guard said. “He’s a wild animal.”

Kyle could heard Baracus laughing. A surprisingly high pitched sound for such a big man. Sniggering. No scared cavemen cowering from the animal noises in the night that one, Kyle thought. More like the growl deep in the dark cave you’d gone into for shelter and were now regretting… Kyle disentangled himself from the other men, and got to his feet, cradling his battered and bruised arm. The guards helped each other up behind him. Kyle glanced at them and remembered what one of them had asked for that first night.

“Taser,” Kyle said. He nodded. “Taser.” Definitely a good idea.

Kyles radio squawked and Anderson’s voice came through.

“Kyle, better come up to Smith and Peck’s cells. It’s starting.”

~~~~

When Kyle got to Hannibal and Face’s cells he found the place bustling with people. Sevchenko was there, giving orders and the guards were bringing Hannibal out of his cell. He was hooded, manacled. He stumbled along between two guards supporting him.

The hood is a mistake, Kyle thought. It hurts us as much as him, I can’t see if he’s really as out of it as he appears. But there was no point in arguing about it. Torturers loved the hood.

“Follow me,” Sevchenko told the guards. They did. Sokoll and Kuprin were there too, they followed directly after. Kyle and Anderson followed them. Getting the bound Hannibal down the stairs was tricky, he stumbled many times as they manoeuvred him down. Kuprin and Sokoll didn’t help by continually punching and slapping him and shouting insults at him.

Kyle know where they were heading.

~~~~

When they pulled the hood off Hannibal had to squeeze his eyes closed against the bright lights directly over him. He was strapped to an operating table in a white tiled room. When he opened his eyes again Sevchenko was looking down at him, the first time Hannibal had seen him since the softening up had started.

“Hello, John,” Sevchenko said, smiled.

“Hello, weasel,” Hannibal replied, wiping the smile off Sevchenko’s face. Seems he expected me to be a bit more amenable, Hannibal thought. He raised his head, looking around. Another small grey man was there too, fiddling with machinery. Hannibal twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Kyle and another man.

The two big guys, the Russians, who had been tormenting him, had been here, he remembered their voices. But they were gone now. They must have gone back to keep working on the others. The thought of that made Hannibal strain against the restraints.

“Mr Kyle, Mr Anderson, you don’t have to stay,” Sevchenko said. “Dr Markovic and I can manage alone now, he is fully secured.”

“We’re staying right here,” Hannibal heard Kyle say. “I’m not underestimating this man again.”

“I think you may have moved on to overestimating him instead,” Sevchenko said. He frowned. He wanted them out, Hannibal thought, but he was stopping short of ordering it. “Very well, but stay quiet and do not interfere.”

He turned back to Hannibal. “Now, Colonel, shall we begin?” He attached an electrode to Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal’s heart started to beat faster. His skin tingled though there was no current running through the wire yet. Electricity. The KGB liked electricity Hannibal knew.

They had a hi-tech looking machine for it Hannibal could see. Sevchenko seemed to like the fancy equipment, but Hannibal suspected he’d be as happy with one improvised from a truck battery, or just a red hot poker. He already knew Sevchenko was happy with a simple pair of pliers. Thinking of that made him curl his hands into fists, over his fingernails.

Sevchenko placed several more electrodes.

He must be able to feel me trembling, Hannibal thought. But that’s all he’s getting. I’m not going to beg. Sweat broke out across his chest and face as he fought to keep his terror internal. Begging would be useless anyway, he knew that. This was going to happen. And there was nothing he could do to make it stop. Sevchenko wasn’t after information that Hannibal could give up. He wasn’t after a confession, or a renunciation. He just wanted pain. He just wanted to enjoy Hannibal’s suffering.

The only way this ended was when Hannibal was dead.

Sevchenko looked at the electrodes arranged on Hannibal’s body and nodded, apparently satisfied. Then he walked over to the machine and threw a switch.

~~~~

Hannibal screamed.

Kyle looked up as the lights dimmed. He should have made sure the bastards had their damn machine on a separate supply. If this crap – Hannibal screamed again – blew out all the electricity…

Sevchenko stood beside his machine and worked the dials with light touches, not even looking at them. He knew the machine like a musician knows his instrument, Kyle thought.

Hannibal stopped screaming, fell back on the operating table, his breath coming harshly, panting. Sevchenko waited a moment then he started to turn a dial slowly. Hannibal gave a moan that turned into a scream as the current increased and Kyle saw Sevchenko smile with pleasure in the dimming flickering lights.

“We’re going to lose the lights if he keeps this up,” Anderson said. “Make him stop.” Kyle turned to him, saw a pleading look in the man’s eyes. “Just make him stop, Kyle.” Kyle turned to the table. Sevchenko was edging the voltage up.

“Stop!” Kyle shouted, over the screams. “You’re going to blow out the lights.”

Sevchenko glared at Kyle. “Quiet,” he ordered. “No interference.”

Kyle stepped up to the table.

“I said stop! If we lose the lights we compromise security. Do you want these men loose to come after you?”

Hannibal’s scream stopped abruptly. But his body was still tense, the current was still flowing, Sevchenko looked away from Kyle, looked alarmed at Hannibal and cut the power. The lights came back to full strength. Hannibal’s body flopped limp onto the table.

Kyle frowned and put a hand on the Colonel’s neck, checking for a pulse.

“Well, you can crack open your first bottle. He’s dead.”


	6. Chapter 6

Face sat against the wall in his cell. The bright lights were on and noise was being piped in again. He’d never heard a live camel being chainsawed before, but suspected that the noise he was hearing now was what it would sound like. His head felt as if someone was drilling their way out of it. Sleep, his mind begged. Sleep or go insane. But they had injected him with something earlier. Something that had left him with his eyes wide and glazed and feeling certain that sleeping would lead to death. He wasn’t alone in the cell. Billy was there. He recognised the dog as the same one he’d seen while on his little trip in Zaire last year. The dog that wasn’t there.

_A year ago upon the stair, I saw a dog that wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today, I wish that dog would go away._

Unless he was replaced with a moose. There really wasn’t room in here. No, Billy had to go away, he had to go back to Murdock. Murdock needed him too right now. Needed him more.

“Murdock,” Face said.

He blinked.

There was an explosion outside the door. Hannibal, in full combat gear, a hunting knife between his teeth, carrying an M60, kicked in the door. Bodies littered the ground behind him. He reached out to Face.

“Let’s get out of here, kid.”

Face blinked again.

The vision of Hannibal vanished. Face looked up as the lights dimmed suddenly. Brown out.

“Go out,” Face whispered. At least in the dark he couldn’t see the dog that wasn’t there.

The lights kept on flickering and Face suddenly had a horribly clear idea of why.

~~~~

“No!” Sevchenko cried. He looked horrified, he turned and yelled at Markovic in Russian. The doctor ran to the metal cupboard started unlocking the deep drawer at the bottom.

“What’s the problem?” Kyle asked. “You want him dead, don’t you?”

“It’s too soon!” Sevchenko cried, wild eyed. “It’s too soon!” He yelled at the doctor again.

Kyle looked at Hannibal on the table. Hannibal was completely still. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. His skin was grey and his lips were blue tinged.

Markovic was filling hypodermics and shouting orders at Sevchenko in Russian. Sevchenko pulled over the heart monitor, attached it as the doctor instructed him. In a moment the long flat beep screamed out of the machine.

Markovic pushed Kyle aside and plunged a large hypodermic into Hannibal’s chest, pressed the plunger in. The flat line on the heart monitor didn’t flicker. The doctor said something that sounded like a curse, and, surprisingly agile, he climbed right onto the table, straddled Hannibal and thumped down hard on his chest, one two three times.

Kyle backed up to stand beside Anderson again. The two mercenaries looked at each other and then just stared.

The doctor cursed again when there was still no reaction. He started to administer CPR, checking his watch as he did so, and then he grabbed a second hypodermic and injected Hannibal again.

For a second there was still no response. But then they all heard the beep from the monitor and Hannibal took a huge gulp of air. Kyle heard Anderson let out a long sighing breath.

The heart monitor began to beep rhythmically and Hannibal opened his eyes, though there was no recognition of anyone in them. In a moment they closed again and he slipped into unconsciousness. The doctor got down from the table. He took out a snowy white handkerchief and patted his sweating forehead. Then he spoke softly in Russian to Sevchenko who was leaning on his shock machine, looking pale.

“Um, Mr Kyle,” Sevchenko said. “Arrange to take the prisoner back to his cell. The doctor will stay with him.” Kyle nodded at Anderson.

“Get some men and a stretcher,” Kyle ordered. Anderson left quickly.

While the doctor fussed around Hannibal. Sevchenko came round to where Kyle stood.

“This is unfortunate,” he said. “The doctor thinks Smith will die if he goes through another session.”

“I thought killing them was the idea?” Kyle said.

“Of course. But not so soon.”

Not nearly as much fun, Kyle supposed.

“So what now?”

“Well the others are younger and healthier of course, they should stand up to the treatment for a long time.”

Kyle frowned. “Just how long are you expecting this to take?”

“As long as it takes, Mr Kyle.” He looked at Kyle’s unhappy expression. “Don’t worry, you will continue to be paid per day.”

“But it could take weeks.”

“If necessary.” Sevchenko smiled. “I have planned this for a long time, I don’t see any reason to rush.”

“These men are dangerous,” Kyle said. “Keeping them alive that long is an unacceptable risk.”

“Mr Kyle, I have faith in your security.”

Anderson led in several men, carrying a stretcher. Sevchenko put a hand on Kyle’s arm moved him out of the way.

“Why keep Smith alive, though?” Kyle asked. “If you can’t work on him what use is he?”

“Mr Kyle,” Sevchenko said, smiling in a somewhat patronising way. There are other ways to torture a man.” He glanced over at Hannibal being loaded onto the stretcher. “I won’t even have to lay a finger on him.”

~~~~

“I have the weirdest barbecues,” Frankie said to himself. “Or the weirdest guests at least.”

Frankie loved to barbecue. So he’d decided the best cover for this little meeting was one of his regular barbecues. That way his nosy neighbours might not notice that he had a bunch of guests with “trained to kill” written all over them. Or rather a different bunch of guests than the normal trained to kill ones.

Right after Willis’s phone call he’d got in his car, gone round to Hannibal’s house and found the colonel’s address book. Then he’d made some phone calls. Some long distance. Some international. And the people he called made some calls themselves. Leave was sought, flights were booked.

And now he was answering the door to a stream of people who made him nervous and excited all at once.

Maggie was already there. She’d turned up on Frankie’s doorstep the morning after he called her and had been here pretty much every moment since, helping him make plans.

Faris Madari and Kahil Jahni had arrived first for the barbecue, both looking grim and determined. They were followed closely by three people Frankie had never met before. He knew their names from the team, and had found them in Hannibal’s address book. He just wasn’t sure they’d actually want to help. Their time working with the team hadn’t been the happiest, from what Frankie had been told.

But they had come. Frankie just hoped they stayed. Two of them scared the bejesus out of him, frankly. Rebecca Wallace and Abid Hassan were military head to toe. Wallace a Marine, tall, blonde and intense. Hassan a Navy SEAL, also tall, Middle Eastern looking, but with a thick Bronx accent. They shook your hand and with a glance decided they could take you out in five seconds. The last one, Eve Miller didn’t look at all scary, a pretty black woman, barely five feet four. But Frankie knew she was CIA and had little doubt despite her being several inches shorter than him she could probably take him out in three seconds.

Things almost got sticky even when Frankie was making introductions. As he introduced the newcomers to Madari and Jahni, Madari said something in Arabic to Hassan, in a questioning tone of voice.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hassan said. “I don’t speak Arabic, my family’s Turkish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, sir, we’re quite happy being Turkish.”

“That’s not what I…” Madari began, gave a humourless smile, “but you know that.” Frankie watched nervously, saw Jahni scowl darkly. How the heck am I going to manage this bunch of Rottweilers? Frankie wondered. Miller elbowed Hassan in the side, frowned at him, making him look away and then back off. The doorbell rang again and Frankie hurried off to answer it, hoping the Rottweilers wouldn’t break up too much of the furniture.

A young woman stood at the door, casually dressed and wearing sunglasses and a straw hat. “Frankie Santana?” She took off her glasses and put her hand out when he nodded. “I’m Karen Bennett.”

“Lieutenant, come on in,” Frankie said, returning her friendly smile. She at least didn’t seem to be sizing him up when she shook hands. Unless she just hid it better than the others. “Thanks so much for coming, you got leave okay?”

“Yeah, had some coming up.” She followed him into the living room, taking off her hat and shaking out her light brown hair. The other had taken seats now. Nobody seemed to be bleeding yet, so things were going better than Frankie had hoped. Maggie caught his eye when he came in, gave him a “what the hell are we getting into?” look. He gave her a weak smile in return.

“Karen,” Madari said, rising, with a smile on his face.

“Colonel! Looking good. Hey, you shaved off the beard.” She shook his hand enthusiastically.

“It was nagged off,” Madari said, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.

“Well it looks good. So do you, Kahil, you sexy beast.” She shook his hand, grinning. Jahni grinned back at her.

“Guys,” Frankie said to the others. “This is Lieutenant Karen Bennett, of the Australian army.” He saw the Americans look her over with unimpressed expressions. She stared back at them not apparently intimidated. “Right,” Frankie said, nervously. “I’m going to see about the food. You all get acquainted and I’ll bring out some drinks.”

He hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and held the cold bottle against his face.

“Nerves a bit stretched?” Maggie’s voice came from behind him, and he turned to her.

“You could say that.” He found the bottle opener and uncapped the beer. “Man, those people are full-on.”

Maggie nodded. “Military types usually are. What time is Willis getting here?”

“Five. It can’t be soon enough.” Frankie took a long swallow of his beer. It was like being around the team again. Maybe not the last few years, when they’d become almost normal people. Most of the time anyway. But like at Langley, back when they could scare the crap out of Frankie just by the way they moved. Just a little faster than other people, normal people. That lot out there were as intense as the team. And as competitive, jockeying for position already.

And Frankie had to persuade them that what they all really wanted to do was band together and go with him to rescue the A-Team.

~~~~

Hannibal’s eyes flickered open. He looked up at the ceiling of his cell. The first thing he noticed was that two of the tubes had been taken out of the lights. His eyes no longer ached. His chest on the other hand felt like it was on fire, He was dizzy and felt sick. He was sure if he moved too fast he would throw up.

There was a needle in his arm. He stretched to look up at an IV hanging over him. Some interrogation drug, he guessed to make him more sensitive to pain, or more confused. Not that he wasn’t confused enough. He reached for the needle.

“Don’t do that.”

The voice startled him. American accented. He lifted his head from the pillow. Wait, he had a pillow and a mattress? What damn game was this?

“It’s just to keep you hydrated, it’s not a drug. You pull it out, the doc will just put it in again.”

Hannibal managed to raise his head enough to see the face looking in at him through the observation hatch.

“What…” Hannibal tried to speak and started to cough, which wrenched agony through him. He held his chest. He heard the keys in the lock and the door opened. One man came in, Hannibal recognised him as the man who’d been standing with Kyle in the torture chamber. Anderson, he remembered the name now. The chamber was the last thing Hannibal remembered. Being wired up, the current flowing through him, every nerve screaming with pain. Had he passed out? Why the hell did his chest hurt so much?

Anderson helped Hannibal sit up and held up a cup of water, kept it steady as Hannibal drank slowly. After a moment Hannibal pulled away, lay down again.

“What’s with the Ritz treatment?” He asked, his voice still cracked and weak.

Anderson glanced back over his shoulder, at another man guarding the open door.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Smith. It’s only until you recover.”

“Recover? From what?”

Anderson glanced at the guard again. Then he spoke very softly. “I don’t know what that Russian bastard has planned now, but I think you’ll soon be wishing they hadn’t brought you back.” He got up, retreated from the cell, and locked the door again. The observation hatch stayed open.

“Back from where?” Hannibal said out loud, getting no answer. He pulled the blankets down and found his chest was back and blue with bruising. He felt himself chill, despite the bedclothes. He’d seen men with bruising like that.

After they’d been resuscitated.


	7. Chapter 7

“Kyle,” Maggie said, quietly.

Frankie glanced at her and saw her shiver. Willis had shown up with a whole carousel of slides and the first picture he projected onto the wall of Frankie’s den was of Kyle. They already knew he was behind the abduction, but seeing his picture, larger than life like that… Frankie guessed that had to be disturbing for Maggie. But she stayed calm. Frankie admired her cool head. He supposed it was down to her medical training and Vietnam experience. If anything happened to Rosita Frankie knew he’d be too nuts to be of any use. Maggie on the other hand was just coldly determined to go get Hannibal back and knew crying and wailing about it was just a waste of time. Frankie was glad to have her aboard. He brought his attention back to Willis, who was filling in details for those who didn’t know Kyle’s resume.

“Douglas Kyle,” Willis said. “He was a mercenary hired to eliminate the A-Team, ten years ago.”

“And he failed,” Maggie said. “And went to jail for the kidnap of the family he used as hostages.”

Willis nodded. “He was released nearly two years ago.”

“Hannibal has mentioned him.” Madari looked up from the dossier on Kyle he was reading. “He was worried initially that Kyle might come after the team for revenge.”

Willis looked at him, still with the nervous look he’d had when first introduced to Madari, Jahni and Bennett. He’d turned to Frankie and said, “Foreign nationals?”

“Friends,” Frankie had tried to reassure him. Even so Willis had put a couple of the files he’d brought with him straight back into his briefcase.

“Kyle has tried to return to being a mercenary, according to reports,” Willis said. “But without much success. He’s done some work as a bounty hunter. Then he was flagged passing through Venice airport on a private jet flight heading to Albania, at the same time as our man in Venice reported that the A-Team had vanished.”

“No way that’s a coincidence,” Frankie said.

“No. Our agents in Albania have tracked Kyle here.” He brought up another slide, of a grim mountainous landscape and in the distance a sinister house, clinging high up the side of a mountain.

“That’s as close a shot as our people could get. It’s a very remote area and strangers are soon noticed.”

“Charming little place.” Frankie grimaced. “What, were all the castles in Transylvania booked up for the summer?”

“What’s the access to that place?” Bennett asked.

“It is possible to get up the mountain on foot to it. But Kyle and his people are coming and going by helicopter.”

He flicked through a few more shots of the landscape and the house, then a picture taken elsewhere came up. A town lay in the background of the picture and the foreground was taken up by a large helicopter, a couple of men standing beside it.

“This is their helicopter. It’s…”

“A Huey!” Maggie exclaimed. “It’s an old Huey.”

“Yes. They are using it to make regular supply runs to a local town.”

Frankie saw Madari looking at the picture of the chopper keenly. “And that is how we get the team off the mountain,” he said. “Kahil, can you fly that if Murdock is injured?”

Jahni looked at the slide rather nervously. “I’ve never flown anything that size before…” Frankie saw him notice Wallace and Hassan look at him then at each other and at once he changed his tone, sounding brashly confident. “But I can do it, no problem.”

“Mr Willis,” Maggie said. “You said Klye hasn’t been very successful as a mercenary, so where is all the money coming from? For the house, the helicopter, the men he must have working for him? Someone must have hired him.”

Willis looked glum, nodded. “I agree, Doctor, and I’ve been investigating that for several days, but I just can’t trace who the client is.”

They were all silent for a moment. The team had many enemies, Frankie knew. He and Maggie had been going over the names of all the ones they could think of, especially the rich ones. It hadn’t got them anywhere.

“How many men does Kyle have there?” Madari asked.

“At the last count we believe it’s approximately twenty.”

Twenty. The number sounded big to Frankie as he looked around at the small unit he’d gathered. If only there’d been more time. But, according to Johnny, these guys were all really good. Frankie had faith in that judgement.

“Mr Willis,” Madari said. “Why did you come to Mr Santana with this information? Are you saying that your government intends to take no action to rescue its citizens from a kidnapper?”

Frankie glanced at him. Madari’s voice was hard, he sounded angry that the team were once again being abandoned to their fate by their own government. But his tone didn’t intimidate Willis, in fact it seemed to anger him.

“Are you suggesting the US sends a military force into Albania?” he demanded. “To recover those men? Do you really believe that is politically possible?” He calmed himself then went on. “The A-Team has always been a thorny issue in Washington. Even after they were pardoned. There are many people who would be happy for them to simply disappear.”

“Yeah, with some of the stuff they know,” Frankie said. “With the people Stockwell took down with him, because of the team, they’d be real happy.”

“Believe me,” Willis said. “I don’t like the idea of going against my own agency.” He glanced at Miller, his fellow CIA agent. “But, well… I think the way those men have been treated is wrong. I’m convinced that the government knew for years that they did the bank robbery under orders, as the team always claimed, but it wasn’t… politically expedient to act on that. And then the way they, and you Mr Santana, were used by General Stockwell.” He shook his head, grimaced, looked disgusted. “Stockwell used to be CIA, the sort of man who gives us a bad name at home and abroad. The kind of manipulation he practised…” He shook his head again. “It was just wrong, that’s all.”

Wallace, Hassan and Miller all looked a little uncomfortable at that. They’d worked for Stockwell, and unlike Frankie and the A-Team, they’d been volunteers.

“So you’re trying to make up for the way the team got screwed over?” Frankie asked Willis.

“Yes,” Willis said. “Yes. I guess I am. Look, this is all I can do for you, bring you the information you need. What you decide to do now I can’t help you with. From the people you’ve assembled it looks like you’re planning a rescue mission. All I can do is wish you luck.”

After that he accepted a cold root beer and got out of there, leaving behind the slides and a lot of photocopied pages from files. They spread them on a table and pored over them.

“This information will get us there, and give us a good idea of what we are facing,” Madari said. “But all of this is useless unless we have weapons.”

“Actually,” Frankie said. “I’ve got a lead on that.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact I have an appointment in a little while to see someone who is going to help us out.” He smiled evilly. “Whether he wants to or not.”

~~~~

Murdock blinked as they pulled the hood off. He was strapped to a metal table in a white tiled room. Here we go, he thought. He shivered, knew that wasn’t down to the temperature of the room. A rough hand grabbed his head and held it down, secured it with a strap that pressed painfully into his forehead. Murdock closed his eyes as he couldn’t turn his head away from the bright lights above him.

He heard a squeaking sound and felt the foot of the table was being raised. Instinctively he grabbed at the edges, fearing he would fall off. But a moment later he realised he was too tightly strapped down, across his chest, waist and legs as well as wrists and ankles. Taking a deep breath he forced his body to relax. Better. He kept on with the deep breathing, trying to make himself calm, wondered if he could put himself into a trance. He’d seen hypnotists put people in trances and then stick needles into their flesh and they’d felt nothing. And what about those swamis in India who preferred a bed of nails to a feather mattress? There were times, back in the camps he’d gone into something like a trance and the torture sessions had passed in a blink. But his doctors called that a fugue and insisted it wasn’t good. It had seemed like a damned good option at the time.

“Hello, Mr Murdock.”

Murdock opened his eyes. Sevchenko stood by the table, looking down on him. Not a dream, Murdock thought. This time he’s real. The Russian’s face didn’t appear in his dreams as much as the Vietnamese faces. He was a one night stand in comparison to the long term relationships from the camp. His was a minor supporting role in the theatre of horrors that Murdock’s dreams could become. Even so he made Murdock shiver. So harmless looking too. The worst ones always were.

“My colleague Dr Markovic,” Sevchenko said, introducing the doctor as politely as if they were all about to sit down and have a business meeting.

“Charmed,” Murdock muttered.

The other two were there too. Kuprin and Sokoll, Murdock had learnt their names, heard guards call them that. He’d met those two already, of course. They’d been in his cell numerous times over the last how many days? The beatings hadn’t been extreme. Of course they didn’t want to kill him, before the boss had his way. Slapping. Punching. Hard enough to hurt, but not to permanently damage. Usually with the hood on, pulling him around, wrenching his arms. Stand here. Stand there. Not there. Here. Not here. There. And more punches when he didn’t move fast enough for them.

The doctor got out a stethoscope and listened to Murdock’s heart for a while, then he nodded to Sevchenko.

Doctors in torture chambers. Just the thought of it made Murdock sick to his stomach. He remembered the first time in the prison camp in Vietnam that a doctor had come into the interrogation room. His heart had leapt. A doctor! Doctors helped people. Surely he would stop the torture, the doctor would make them stop. But the doctor just listened to Murdock’s heart, checked his blood pressure, injected him with something and then went to the interrogators and nodded. And left with Murdock screaming after him to come back, to help.

The next time Murdock had tried talking to him. Maybe he didn’t understand what was happening here. “They’re torturing me, you have to help me. You’re a doctor, you have to help me.” That’s what doctors do isn’t it?

And another nod and they started on Murdock again. And he understood finally. Next time he screamed abuse at the doctor. Total hatred. _You broke your oath, and worst of all, you’re keeping me alive so they can hurt me for longer. Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!_

“Bastard…” Murdock muttered. The memories were pulling him down, rising up around his head, like dark water. Blood roared in his ears, thanks to the angle of the table leaving him with his head tilted back. His naked feet were outlined almost comically against the lights. Feet were such odd, funny looking appendages, he thought. He spread his toes as wide as he could. I’m head over heels. No, wait, that makes no sense. Head is usually over heels, should be heels over head… A slap on his chest made him gasp out, brought him back to reality with a cold shock. His toes clenched tight again.

“Listen!” Kuprin snapped. Sevchenko was talking and Murdock hadn’t heard a word of it.

Sevchenko scowled looking down at Murdock. “Murdock? You’re not paying attention.”

“Oh, pardon me.” Murdock put as much defiance into his voice as he could muster. “I’ve not slept for days and I’m doped to the eyeballs with whatever filthy concoction Dr Frankenstein over there’s been mixing up in his lab, so I just may have the attention span of a gnat, okay?”

Sevchenko smiled thinly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll soon be concentrating very hard on what is going on.” He ran a hand over his thin hair to flatten it, then bent down over Murdock, spoke to him quietly, close to his face. “Now, I want something from you, Mr Murdock.”

“Sorry, I left my breath mints in Venice.” He saw Sevchenko nod at the men standing behind Murdock’s head, and Murdock groaned as a fist slammed hard into his shoulder, against already bruised flesh.

“I want your name, Murdock,” Sevchenko went on. “You see no matter how hard I searched, how much money I laid out, I wasn’t been able to get my hands on a file with your full name in it.” He smiled. “Is your name perhaps classified information?”

“Yeah,” Murdock said. “Only me and the president are allowed to know it.”

“Very amusing. Is it something terribly embarrassing?”

“Not nearly as embarrassing as Vassily. Did they call you ‘Vaseline’ at school?” Murdock heard a snort from behind him. Sevchenko glared at the two thugs, spoke to them coldly in Russian. Murdock heard them move away, heard them somewhere else in the room, moving things around.

Sevchenko turned back to Murdock. “You are going to tell me what H.M. stands for.”

Murdock heard water running and he began to sweat. Water. He knew at once what was coming. He’d had it done to him before. “You know…” his voice was still defiant, but starting to shake. “I think I’ve actually forgotten.”

“I think not.” Sevchenko stepped away, then came back, with a plastic sheet. “I believe you know what is about to happen. Do you wish to give me what I want before I proceed?”

It was terribly tempting. What did it matter after all? Murdock instinctively wanted to resist telling Sevchenko just because the bastard did want it. And because, well because it was his secret, that’s all. But was that secret worth going through this for? But was it a delusion to think Sevchenko would stop, whatever Murdock told him?

“Of course, I must warn you, once you tell me, once you give me what I want…” Sevchenko smiled. “Then I will kill you.”

Without waiting for Murdock to answer he took the piece of cloth and held it over Murdock’s face. Not pressing down, not smothering him. Murdock began to breath fast. He strained to move his head, but it was too tightly strapped down.

He didn’t hear Kuprin and Sokoll approach, but suddenly they were there, their bulky figures looming over him. One of them, they were too foggy for him to tell which, held something up over Murdock’s face, twisted the end of it. Water began to pour onto the cloth. Murdock started to gag in a pure reflexive reaction. His body jerked in a spasm as he tried in vain to get away from the water.

_I’m drowning!_ Murdock’s mind screamed. Panic. Uncontrollable. Fists, toes, clenched. Water ran around his head, sprayed cold onto his chest. Got in his mouth, his ears, up his nose. Agony.

I won’t drown, a tiny, still rational corner of his mind told him. My lungs are higher than my head. In this position I simply can’t aspirate enough water to drown. Screw that! I am drowning! I’m going to die!

“Stop!” he screamed. “Stop!”

They did. The water stopped falling, the cloth was removed. Murdock spat out the water in his mouth, and gulped in air, breath coming in fast gasps. Lights overhead whirled. Dizzy as a carousel. Vision tunnelling, full of black spots and flashes.

“Well, Murdock?” The accented voice beside his ear.

_How long did I last? Felt like an hour._ He knew it had been seconds.

“If I tell you…” he whispered, husky, agonised. “You’re going to kill me?”

“Yes.”

Murdock groaned and closed his eyes. He gathered the shreds of his nerves back together.

“Then go to hell.”

Sevchenko straightened up, and held the cloth over Murdock’s face again. The water started to pour down and Murdock gagged and gasped and screamed.

Hell was much wetter than he’d expected.


	8. Chapter 8

“You can go in now,” the secretary told Frankie. He stopped pacing and went to the door. It was actually two doors, tall and made of pale polished wood. Probably something very rare and endangered. Even more endangered since these offices were fitted out. Frankie took hold of the chromed door handle, hesitated. The secretary was watching him, he could feel her eyes on his back.

_Go inside, Frankie. You have to do this._ He pushed the door open and a smell of cigar smoke drifted out. That made him smile. More expensive than Johnny’s cigars for sure, but the smell reassured Frankie, made him like Johnny was right here with him. He knew that was how he’d get through this, by keeping on asking himself, how would Johnny handle this?

He wouldn’t be dawdling at the door, that was for sure. Frankie pushed both doors wide and stepped inside. He was faced with about an acre of carpet. Pale blue, a shag-pile ocean. Farrell’s desk was a distant ship, near the unshaded windows. Not windows really. Floor to ceiling, a glass wall keeping out the darkness.

Frankie squared his shoulders and set off across the carpet ocean. Who the hell had a pale blue carpet anyway? Did Farrell like to pretend he was Jesus walking on the water? The carpet, thick and soft, seemed to be trying to pull Frankie’s feet into its depths. He felt certain if he looked down now that it would be up to his knees already and getting deeper every second.

Farrell’s chair was turned away from the desk, facing out of the window. Frankie knew he was there because of the stream of cigar smoke that swirled lazily up and the reflection in the window. Farrell didn’t react as Frankie reached the desk.

“Mr Farrell?” Frankie said and waited. Still Farrell did not move.

The lights of the room were brightest over the desk. Blue white light poured down from a bank of lights and made Frankie want to reach into his pocket for his sunglasses. It also made him wonder about a man who lit his desk like a sound stage trying to simulate daylight, and then sat staring into the darkness outside.

Darkness. Night vision. The thought sprang into his head. They’d need some of those night vision goggles. Had they put those on the list? Ultra-red? Infra-violet? Or was that the other way around? Then he smiled. Hell, Farrell would know ten times better than Frankie exactly what they were going to need. He wasn’t going to need Frankie’s little shopping list.

(Automatic weapons, ammunition, medical kit, short-wave radio…)

This is insanity, Frankie thought, struck suddenly with the fear he hadn’t let himself feel so far. What he had planned was insanity and blackmailing Farrell to get hold of what he needed to even try it was insanity too. Farrell was powerful, influential. And a killer.

Frankie knew that Farrell could make one phone call and then… best case scenario Frankie never worked in Hollywood again. Worst case, he never went home to his family again.

A sudden harsh buzz made Frankie jump and started his heart pounding.

And finally Farrell turned his chair away from the window. He pressed a button on the intercom. The secretary’s voice came out of the air.

“Will you and your guest have coffee, Mr Farrell?”

Farrell took out his cigar. “No.” He gazed coldly at Frankie. “He isn't staying long.”

~~~~

“You keep well of the way until he’s secured,” Kyle ordered.

Sevchenko nodded, nervousness mixed with his anticipation. Kyle had to admit to some nervousness himself. He could hear them coming down the steps now. “Ready?” Kyle asked the four guards waiting in the torture chamber with him. They all nodded too.

The sound came closer, yelling, scuffling of boots on stone, grunts of pain. Then a group of struggling men burst into the room, six guards, and Anderson all surrounding BA. BA was roaring at them from beneath his hood, promising grisly death to every man in the vicinity. The men’s shoes and boots squeaked and skidded on the still wet floor. They dragged BA over to the wall, pushed him face first against it, all pressing their weight against him.

The four guards with Kyle at once started to fasten manacles to his wrists and ankles. They pulled the chains tight, allowing him no slack and the guards backed off. BA yanked hard on the chains, trying to rip them from the wall. When he couldn’t budge them he finally stopped fighting, stood there breathing hard.

Kyle shook his head. Crazy. Crazier than the pilot they’d carried out of here an hour ago. What was the use of wearing himself out with this psychotic aggression? Anderson, also panting, came up to Kyle.

“Next time I say we knock him out and drag him down here in a big net.” He wasn’t kidding. Kyle glanced over at Sevchenko. The Russian had a curiously excited look on his face. If Baracus got loose he’d soon wipe that smirk off, Kyle thought. He shook himself. His job was to see that doesn’t happen.

Kuprin and Sokoll strolled in, Sokoll still finishing off a cup of coffee. They were in fresh, dry clothes now. Kyle had spoken to them a short time ago, telling them it was almost time to go back to work. They’d been tucking into a huge pile of sandwiches. Apparently waterboarding Murdock had given them an appetite. Kyle dismissed all but two of the men, made Anderson stay too. Anderson looked resentful at the order. Because he’d rather go and put his feet up, or something else? Kyle wondered. He would have to have a serious talk with Anderson.

Kuprin pulled the hood off BA at Sevchenko’s order. BA turned his head round as far as he could, looking at the men behind him. Turned the other way to look over his other shoulder.

“You all dead men,” he announced, surprisingly calmly. He was scowling fiercely as usual, but his hands were shaking, Kyle saw now too. Was that pure physical exhaustion or fear? He had to know nothing good was coming.

Sevchenko stepped around into BA’s line of sight. “Hello, Bosco.”

“You can call me _Mister_ Baracus,” BA growled in return.

“Ah, you are a proud man, aren’t you? But you are wrong, I can call you whatever I like. Because I am your master.”

BA snorted. “Ain’t no man ever been my master. You sure ain’t.”

“We’ll see.” He nodded at Kuprin, who went to the cupboard and took out the leather whip from the rack inside the door. He shook out his arm and cracked the whip, grinned and nodded, pleased.

“I want something from you, Bosco,” Sevchenko said, voice low, husky. “I want you to call me master.”

“Be a cold day in hell ‘fore that happens.”

“But you must understand something. As soon as you do what I want I will kill you.”

BA stared at Sevchenko for a moment. “You didn’t need to give me no extra reason not to do what you want.”

“I thought not.” He stepped back and nodded at Kuprin to begin. The thug raised his arm, then stopped as Sevchenko held up a hand. “Oh, one thing. I want you to say it in that quaint American way, Southern is it? How is it pronounced? ‘Mas’er'” He mangled the word with his Russian accent, but it as clear what he was trying to say.

“Sick, sick, sick.” It was a whisper only Kyle heard. He glanced at Anderson, who was glaring at Sevchenko in total disgust. Kyle glanced over to see BA was straining against the manacles again, but after a moment he brought himself under control.

“Ain’t never happening,” he said, voice calm. He’s making a vow, Kyle thought. He’ll die first. Sevchenko nodded at Kuprin then and the big man finally went to work.

Kyle had seen men whipped before, done it himself a couple of times. So he knew right away that Kuprin was going easy. He wasn’t putting all his weight behind it. Sevchenko really did intend to make this last as long as possible, Kyle thought. He didn’t want BA to lose enough blood to die. Not yet.

BA had taken ten lashes so far and still hadn’t cried out. Glancing at Anderson again Kyle thought he looked like he’d cry out before BA did.

Why draw this out? Kyle wondered. What was to be gained? There was the revenge of course, but then again Sevchenko had been out of circulation for a while, perhaps he was simply trying to get back into practice. Once he was who would he offer his services to? Kyle knew for a fact he was now a wanted criminal back home in Russia. Or maybe, Kyle thought, seeing the look on Sevchenko’s face as he watched the whipping, he simply enjoyed it. There was more than professional pride there, it gave him genuine pleasure.

That was what really bothered Kyle. Because that way it got personal.

Fifteen. BA was now letting out pained gasps.

Kyle wasn’t against torturing a man to get some information from him. He’d done that plenty. But what was the point of doing it for fun? It got dangerous then, you lost focus, got distracted. It was the same with the revenge thing. Of course you took revenge if a man crossed you. How else could you protect your reputation? But taking revenge for personal satisfaction was not a good idea. It led to mistakes. Kyle knew that all too well. He’d let it get personal with the A-Team, let Smith get under his skin and walked right into their trap. Kyle had spent the first two years of his jail sentence plotting various hideous schemes of revenge against the team, until he’d finally got it. Thinking that way had put him in that cell in the first place.

So he’d taken this job not to get any kind of kick out of finishing that job he’d started all those years ago, but to prove he could do it. That he could take on these men who had beaten him before and defeat them. That he’d learned.

BA cried out, finally. Kyle had lost count of the strokes, must be near thirty, he decided.

“Twenty eight,” he heard Anderson mutter. Like he was recording the number for posterity.

_Twenty-nine._

_Thirty._

_You’ll never make him scream._

“Enough.” Sevchenko said. Kuprin stopped, rolled his shoulders. “That will do for today.”

Just a taster, to make him think about what’s to come. The doctor, who Kyle hadn’t even heard come in, checked BA’s back. Welts but little blood, Kuprin was an artist. Markovic nodded at Sevchenko who turned to Kyle. “Remove him.”

“Anderson, get the men back in here. Let’s get him back to his cell.”

Anderson looked relieved. Happy it was over already. Sorry, Jack, it only gets worse.

The men piled in. Kyle watched them unchain BA. This time he offered no resistance, slumped in their grip and they almost had to carry him. They manhandled him out of the room.

“Short session,” Kyle said.

Sevchenko shrugged. “I’m tired.” He said. “We can go on tomorrow, when…” he was cut off by a huge commotion from outside, yelling, the sounds of men hitting the wall and the floor.

Great, you’d think the guy would want to get some rest…

“Kyle!” A panicky yell. “Kyle, he’s loose!”

~~~~

Frankie gulped a couple of times, mouth dry. He’d have liked a coffee actually. He held out his hand to Farrell.

“Hi, I’m Frankie Santana. I used to…”

“I know exactly who you are,” Farrell snapped. He made no attempt to shake Frankie’s hand. Awkwardly Frankie withdrew it. There was no sign Farrell was going to invite Frankie to sit down either.

_What would Johnny do?_ Frankie sat anyway, though he didn’t put his feet up on the desk, which he was certain Hannibal would have done. Farrell glared at him.

“I don’t have a lot of time. What do you want?”

“Okay. Well the A-Team have been kidnapped and…”

“Yes, I know. By Douglas Kyle. You are assembling a rather motley crew to go and rescue them.” He smiled smugly at Frankie’s astonishment. “I do still have friends at the company.”

“Right. Well in that case I’ll cut to the chase. I need your help.”

Farrell gave a short, harsh laugh. “If you think I’m going to Albania you’re even stupider than you look.”

Frankie’s fists clenched. Calm he told himself. Stay cool.

“We can manage without you, thanks. What we do need is transport, weapons and equipment. You’re as rich as God, you can help out that way.”

This time Farrell’s laughter sounded like genuine and highly unpleasant amusement. After a moment he stopped, smiled nastily at Frankie. “No.”

“I thought you might say that.” Frankie looked at a framed photograph on Farrell’s desk. A young woman expensively dressed, coiffed and tanned. “Is that your fiancée? Hey they say that’s going to be the wedding of the year.” Frankie gave a sly smile. “Do her family know that you used to work for Stockwell?”

Calm, calm. Frankie ordered himself, as Farrell’s face flushed and he scowled deeply.

“Might cause her dad a bit of trouble with that state supreme court nomination thing. Especially what you did down in South America of course. Hannibal said that was pretty much an execution…”

“Are you attempting to blackmail me?” Farrell sounded more astonished than angry.

“Um, yeah,” Frankie said. “Wasn’t that clear? Sorry, I kind of expected you to be quicker on the uptake.” Oh, yeah, that was definitely what Johnny would have said.

Farrell smiled thinly. He sat back in his chair and smoked his cigar for a while. Then he sat up straight and pulled a legal pad towards him, started writing on it with a Mont Blanc pen. “Okay, Santana, you win. I’ll give you what you want.” He looked up at Frankie, with an unpleasant expression. “And if my prayers are answered you and your Z-team will never be heard from again.”

“Aw, you don’t have to wish me luck,” Frankie said, trying to keep the smug smile off his face.

“You’ll get a phone call first thing tomorrow telling you what time to be at the airport. Now get the hell out of here and never let me see your face again.”

“Right. You need my phone number?” Frankie said standing up. Farrell just looked at him. “Right. Okay, well thanks. You’re doing the right thing.” He grinned. “Try not to feel too bad about that.” He turned to leave.

“Santana,” Farrell called. Frankie turned back. Farrell looked slightly awkward for a moment. “Would you say hello to Evie from me?”

“Miller?” Frankie said, surprised. “Okay.”

“Is she still engaged to Hassan?”

“Yeah, they’re talking about getting married next year, they said.”

Farrell shook his head. “Such a waste. She went to Princeton you know? Speaks about ten languages. And she’s going to throw herself away on a pork-dodging grunt who’ll probably make her wear a burkha after they’re married.”

Frankie stared at him, almost awestruck. “Wow, and I thought the team had to be exaggerating about just how unpleasant you are.”

The look on Farrell’s face told him it was time to leave. Frankie waded back across the ocean of carpet and left the office. He gave the secretary a big smile. She just gave him a cold look in return. He didn’t care.

Once in the elevator he leaned against the wall, his knees weak. But he still had the smile on his face. “I’m on my way, guys,” he said to the air. “We are on our way.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Stay here!” Kyle shouted back over his shoulder, as he ran to the door.

There was no question of that. Kuprin and Sokoll followed Kyle out, but Sevchenko and Markovic ran to slam the door closed after them. Kyle heard the bolts on the inside being rammed home.

BA was part way up the steps, a set of handcuffs dangling from one wrist. The bracelet that should have been on his other wrist hung open. The guards were pointing guns at him and yelling, but no-one fired because, in front of BA, one of the sergeant’s huge arms around his throat, was Anderson, red in the face and making horrible choking noises. BA’s free hand roamed over Anderson’s body, searching for his gun.

“Your men must not fire,” Kuprin said.

“Well of course not, idiot,” Kyle snapped. “He’s got a hostage.”

Kuprin gave Kyle a scowl. “Mr Sevchenko wants Baracus alive,” he said. Kyle stared at him in disgust for a second, then turned away, shaking his head.

He saw BA give up on searching Anderson. Anderson must have ditched his gun when he was grabbed, Kyle realised, surprised at the man’s quick thinking. BA started retreating backwards up the steps, dragging Anderson stumbling after him.

“Let him go, Baracus,” Kyle said. “There’s no place to go. And if you kill him we’ve got no reason not to rush you.”

“Yeah,” BA growled, sneering. “Your guys look real eager to rush me.”

Kyle glanced at the men. They looked like they’d trip over each other to be the last one to get to BA.

But Kyle was right, there was no place for BA to go. A moment later, summoned over the radio, a squad arrived at the top of the stairs, led by Berry. Berry apparently didn’t care whether BA snapped Anderson’s neck. He ran down the stairs, guards coming fast after him. BA tried to turn to meet the new threat and the men at the bottom of the stairs at once advanced on him. The two groups engulfed BA, slamming him back against the wall, making him howl in agony as his abused back was scraped against the gritty stone. Anderson fell out of the scrum of men, tumbled down the steps and lay coughing, rubbing his throat. Kyle went over and pulled him to his feet.

“I’m okay,” Anderson gasped, swaying. “I’m okay.” He leant heavily on Kyle and almost fell down when Kyle pushed him away. Kyle grabbed his arm and shoved him against the wall.

“You’re a damn liability, Anderson.”

“It was the cuffs,” Anderson protested. “They mustn’t have closed properly. We need a larger size.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. Either get your ass in gear or get the hell out.”

Anderson bristled, looking outraged. He opened his mouth, but Kyle just snapped, “Shut the hell up and get Baracus back in his cell.” The melee on the stairs had calmed down now, BA had been overpowered and they’d got the manacles secured on him. The guards started to haul BA back up the steps. Anderson, still red in the face, from anger now, followed them.

Kyle went back to the door of the torture chamber and knocked on it.

“You can come out now, he’s secured,” he shouted through the door. He heard the bolts being pulled back and in a moment the door opened and Sevchenko and Markovic peered out nervously. They saw BA disappearing from sight at the top of the steps, still struggling against the guards and both breathed sighs of relief.

Markovic spoke to Sevchenko who then turned to Kyle. “Does anyone need medical attention?”

“Might be a few cuts and bruises,” Kyle said. He took a breath and spoke as politely as he could manage. “I’d appreciate it if the doc checked my men out.”

“But of course,” Sevchenko said, sent the doctor off up the stairway, then turned to Kyle again. “Thank you, Mr Kyle, for ensuring my security.”

“Just doing my job.”

And don’t for a second think it’s anything else, Kyle thought. Because if you weren’t paying me, I’d hold Baracus’ coat while he tore your head off.

~~~~

“LAX. 11 am,” a female voice said when Frankie answered the phone at five thirty in the morning the day after his late night meeting with Farrell.

Five thirty. Well if the earliness of the call was meant as a small act of nastiness on Farrell’s part then the guy had clearly never had any kids. Frankie was actually standing in the living room feeding the baby when the call came in. He gave the rest of his rescue party a couple of hours before he called them at their hotels and told them where to meet him.

As Frankie, Rosita and Maggie walked into the terminal building at the airport a man stepped up to them.

“Santana,” he said and handed Frankie a leather folder. A second later he vanished into the crowd.

“Fast worker,” Maggie said, taking Frankie’s bag as he unzipped the folder. There were papers inside, but most importantly, nestled in a a pocket of the folder, an American Express Platinum Card. The name on it was “Mr F Santana.” Frankie took it out and smiled as he showed it to Maggie and Rosita.

“I always wanted one of these,” he said. “Especially one where I’m not going to get the bill for it. Anyone got a pen handy? I’d better sign it…”

It was already signed. Frankie stared. It was definitely his signature.

“Honey, did anyone come to the house in the middle of the night and make me sign this in my sleep?”

Rosita shook her head, looking at the signature with the same astonishment as Frankie. “What kind of man is this Farrell person anyway?”

“I’m thinking that while I’m away you should go and stay with your mother,” Frankie said. “Or maybe even go on vacation some place. Like, maybe Alaska.”

“There’s the others,” Maggie said, pointing to their party. Frankie looked over and sighed.

“Geez,” he muttered. “Way to be inconspicuous people.” They were sitting or standing, looking tense and in most cases, despite their civilian clothes, looking like soldiers. Jahni stood behind the seated Madari, casing the area as if expecting an attack. Wallace was guarding the group’s bags. Quite clearly guarding and not just watching. Hassan stood slightly apart and watched everyone who came near. Perimeter guard.

Only Miller and Bennett were managing to appear casual. Bennett had her straw hat on again and a pink t-shirt that read “Kiss me, I’m Australian”, so she didn’t exactly look military.

“Hi, guys,” Frankie said. A man stepped up to his side. The group instantly got even more tense.

“Mr Santana, I’m your pilot.” He wore a blue uniform and cap. His eyes were hidden by aviator style sunglasses, but his smile was reasonably friendly. He was young, no more than thirty, Frankie thought.

“There’s a slight delay, I’m afraid. We can’t take off for another three hours.” He ignored the groans from his passengers. Madari and Bennett had risen when Frankie arrived and Bennett now flopped back down in her seat again with a sigh. Miller hadn’t stood up. Frankie noticed Maggie looking at her. She did look a bit pasty he thought, and wondered if she was a nervous traveller.

“We had a technical problem and lost the take off slot we’d been allocated. All fixed now. Here’s the details.” The pilot handed Frankie a card folder of documents. “If your party comes to the gate in three hours we should be ready to leave.”

“Yeah, great,” Frankie said. Damn delays, every minute they were delayed… well he didn’t want to think about what it meant for the team.

The pilot left. Madari turned to the group. “It’s best we go and get through passport check and security now. Gather your belongings, please.”

“Wait a minute,” Hassan said, frowning. “When did we agree that this guy is in charge?”

“‘This guy’ is a colonel, _Sergeant_ ,” Jahni snapped.

“He isn't my colonel.”

“Abid…” Miller said. Maggie and Rosita caught each other’s eyes and exchanged a look that Frankie knew simply meant “men”.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Madari asked.

“Yeah there’s a problem. We’re American soldiers.” He glanced at Wallace, who hadn’t spoken, but had came to stand beside Hassan. “We don’t like taking orders from… foreigners.”

“You mean _you_ don’t like taking orders from Arabs,” Jahni said, stepping closer to Hassan. Madari frowned at him, and the look made him back off.

“Hey, c’mon, guys,” Frankie said, “We’re all volunteers here. The colonel didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes, I’m sure. Look, let’s sort out all this who’s in charge stuff on the plane, right? Right?” There was a tense moment, then Hassan shrugged and went off to pick up his and Miller’s bags. Frankie gave a sigh of relief. “Geez,” he muttered again.

“That reminds me,” Miller said, standing up and holding out her hand. “Abid, Becky, give me your dog tags.” When they hesitated she said, “I know you’re both proud to be American soldiers, but if we get into any kind of trouble over there, with the authorities, they don’t need to know that’s what you are.”

Frankie recognised that sort of thinking of course. What had Murdock once called it? Spook 101.

Slowly, reluctantly Wallace and Hassan removed their ID tags, dropped them into Miller’s hand.

“Anyone else prefer not to risk embarrassing their government?” Miller asked. Bennett shrugged and gave up her tags. Madari and Jahni followed. Miller gave all the tags to Rosita, who dropped them into her purse.

“Anyone else feel like they’re naked?” Bennett asked, rubbing her neck.

Frankie was chuckling at that and watching the group start to gather up their stuff when Madari took his arm and spoke quietly to him.

“Frankie, may I have a word with you. In private.”

“Um, sure,” Frankie said, saw the very serious look in the Colonel’s eyes. They moved away from the others.

“Frankie, first let me say that what you have done, bringing us all together, getting us the plane, that is amazing work. I wouldn’t have thought it possible in such a short time.”

“Hey,” Frankie said, smiling. “I work in Hollywood. Doing the impossible on short notice is like a basic job skill.”

“Even so, thank you.”

Uh-oh, something’s coming, Frankie thought, I can feel it, and it’s coming right around the corner at me.

“I don’t think you should come to Albania,” Madari said.

“Whoa!” Frankie protested at once. “This is my party, Colonel. Are you trying to ditch me?”

“Yes, I am,” Madari said, then went on quickly, as Frankie was about to speak again. “From here onwards, this is a military operation. You are not a military man.”

“Neither is Maggie, I don’t see you trying to dump her.”

“Dr Sullivan was a medic in Vietnam. And we will very likely need a doctor.”

“But you don’t need me?”

Madari looked uncomfortable, spoke quietly. “It will be dangerous, you know that. And we don’t need you as much as your family needs you.” He glanced over at Rosita who was sitting with Maggie. Frankie looked at her too. He was struck momentarily by how good her hair looked today. It was a temptation he had to admit. Madari was right, it was going to be dangerous. And of course they could handle the mission without Frankie. He saw Madari glance at Rosita again, and wondered if the colonel was imagining having to face her with the news that Frankie wasn’t coming home. So it was tempting. But Frankie imagined himself sitting at home, waiting for a phone call… Good news or bad? No. No way.

“Colonel, we’ve got three hours to kill, I want to show you something. We’ll need to take a short drive.”


	10. Chapter 10

When the guards came to get Hannibal from his cell they found him lying on his bunk with one blanket wrapped around him. The mattress and pillow were on the floor. Kyle shrugged and told a guard to remove them.

“You don’t get these back, Smith,” Kyle said.

“If I wanted them they wouldn’t be on the floor would they?” They’d taken out the IV a couple of hours ago and then brought him food. Not stale bread and water this time. Fresh bread, cold chicken, a couple of hard boiled eggs and an apple. And along with the water, tea to drink.

Hannibal had looked at the tray with this banquet on it for some time. The others weren’t getting this, he was certain of that. Just like they didn’t have a mattress and pillow. Hannibal had already thrown those items to the floor.

But because the others weren’t getting food like this did that mean Hannibal should reject it? The others were getting just enough to stay alive. It looked like Hannibal was getting enough to keep him reasonably healthy too. It would feel good to make a gesture of comradeship and refuse extra food the others weren’t getting. On the other hand Hannibal had to be smart, had to take advantage of anything that would help him to stay strong enough to take any opportunity to help the others.

So he ate the food. He ate quickly and took no pleasure in it. It’s fuel, he told himself, not entertainment. Just get it down and don’t for think about it, about the crisp sweetness of the apple, the softness of the bread. No. It’s fuel. I’m a car and this is gasoline. The tea was cold by the time he came to drink it. He decided if they gave him tea again, or coffee, he would let it go cold every time before he drank it. Sackcloth and ashes, Colonel.

Kyle’s men took Hannibal back to the white tiled room. He started to sweat as they took him in there. Flashes came back to him now, the table, the electrodes, the electric shocks that felt like they were smashing open every cell in his body. He struggled, pulling away from the table. But that’s not where they were heading this time. They dragged him over to the wall and secured his arms and feet to the manacles there, facing away from the wall. Kyle and Anderson stayed and the other guards left the room.

Sevchenko came in only once Hannibal was in the manacles. He smiled his sickening smile.

“John. You did give us a fright before. I hope you are feeling stronger.”

“Drop dead,” Hannibal snarled. It wasn’t up to his usual standard he feared, he was still exhausted and in pain. But it was certainly heartfelt. “And stop calling me John, you bastard.” Only Maggie called him John. God, Maggie. What he’d give to see her again right now. He wondered if she’d realised something was wrong yet. He hadn’t been calling her every single day during his vacation, they weren’t lovesick teenagers, after all. But several days had passed, she must have missed him by now.

“I want something from you, John,” Sevchenko said

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you want to hear me scream.”

“No, no, I appreciate I’m going to have to change my methods with you. But variety is the spice of life is it not?”

“Yeah. One day I’m in a luxury hotel room the next I’m in a stone cell. Life’s a roller-coaster ride for sure.”

“You are feeling better,” Sevchenko said, sounding approving. Then he went suddenly serious again. Like he’d flipped a switch, Hannibal thought. Yeah, I think this guy flipped a long time ago.

“What I want from you, John, is for you to tell me which of your men I should torture today.”

Hannibal stared and felt his gut freeze as he saw clearly what Sevchenko was going to do, exactly how he was going to torture Hannibal from now on.

“No.” Hannibal’s voice was soft.

“Come along, John.” The tone was impatient, like a teacher demanding an answer. “Which member of the A-Team should I torture now?”

There was only one way to answer that.

“Me.”

Sevchenko smiled, clearly expecting that answer.

“I’m afraid not, John.” He turned to Kyle. “I think we’ll have Mr Peck. He hasn’t had my personal attention yet. And call Mr Sokoll to come down please.”

Kyle frowned and got on the radio. Sevchenko turned to Hannibal, spoke to him almost conversationally.

“I haven’t worked with Kuprin and Sokoll before, so this is a chance for them to prove themselves to me, to see if we make a good team.” He smiled. “Obviously you appreciate the importance of good teamwork.”

Hannibal wasn’t listening. His head was spinning, he started breathing fast, heart pounding. There had to be some way to stop this. He couldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t stand here and watch Face, any of them, being hurt. Not again. He’d do anything, say anything to prevent it.

“What do you want, Sevchenko?” Hannibal asked. “Anything you want, I’ll get it for you. Just don’t do this.” He hated himself, he sounded weak, he sounded like he was begging. Hell, he was begging. He meant it too. If Sevchenko said right now that he wanted Hannibal to go steal him the Mona Lisa, Hannibal would start planning the heist. If Sevchenko wanted the moon on a stick Hannibal would start calculating how big a stick he’d need to get hold of.

Then they brought Face in and Hannibal couldn’t keep his groan of agony inside him. Face was strapped to the table before they took the hood off him. His head wasn’t strapped down. He raised it to stare around the terrifying room.

“Hannibal!” Face cried, when he saw the colonel. “You okay?” Kyle, who Hannibal guessed was very unhappy with the idea of the team members getting to communicate stepped up and slapped Face on the chest.

“Shut up.”

Face had always had a blind - or maybe deaf - spot over the phrase “shut up,” Hannibal knew. It just didn’t seem to register with him.

“Go to hell, Kyle,” Face snarled at their jailer. Another slap, across the head this time, made him stay quiet for a moment.

“I’m okay, Face,” Hannibal said. “You all right?” Face didn’t look all right, he was pale, with bruises and cuts standing out very clearly. His eyes were sunken and dark circled. His hair hung limp.

“Sevchenko,” Kyle snapped. “Letting these men communicate is dangerous.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sevchenko said, giving Kyle a glare. “I have decided the risk is acceptable.” He turned to Sokoll, who had just arrived, spoke to him in Russian. The thug nodded and went to the metal cupboard. He took out the leather whip. Hannibal frowned. Unless they were going to move Face he wasn’t exactly in the right position for a flogging. Then Hannibal felt the bile rise in his throat, as Sokoll moved to the foot end of the table. The man tightened the straps around Face’s ankles, immobilising his feet. Then he adjusted the height of the table.

Face must have realised what was coming too. This had been done to him in Vietnam, Hannibal knew, though with a cane then. He’d not been able to walk for weeks. The guards had taken pleasure in making him do jobs for them, laughing that he had to crawl on his hands and knees. Face was looking at Hannibal with eyes wide open. Hannibal stared right back at him.

Their eyes were locked so intensely that neither of them even saw Sokoll raise his arm and flick the whip. The end of it, only a couple of inches licked the sole of Face’s naked left foot. Face’s scream was as much of shock as pain. Hannibal groaned deeply. His own feet curled involuntarily.

“Twenty five lashes, each foot,” Sevchenko said as the whip hit Face’s right foot. Face didn’t scream this time, more prepared for it now, but he did yell in pain. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tight his knuckles looked like they would burst through his skin. His whole body was tense until the next stroke fell and then it spasmed against the restraints. He would start screaming again soon, Hannibal knew.

“This is commonly used as a punishment in Arab countries under Sharia law,” Sevchenko said. “Quite barbaric, don’t you think?”

Hannibal tore his gaze from Face for a moment to glare hatred beyond belief at Sevchenko. He couldn’t speak. His throat felt like someone had a hand round it. Sevchenko smiled looking pleased with Hannibal’s reaction.

“Kyle!” Hannibal found his voice suddenly, stared past Sevchenko to Kyle and Anderson. “Kill this thing! Either of you.” Face screamed and Hannibal flinched. “Kill it now and I’ll give you every cent I have. Every cent I can steal. Kill it now!”

Sevchenko actually looked alarmed for a moment, looked at Kyle and Anderson. Kyle just looked impassive. Anderson was wide eyed and sweating. Hannibal looked directly at him. Face screamed again.

“We’ve still got money stashed from the Hanoi bank job,” Hannibal yelled.

Anderson frowned. “Is that true?”

“He’s lying, you fool,” Kyle snapped. “Ignore him.”

“I mean it, Anderson, check out the trial transcripts, the discrepancy in the bank audit. That’s our pension fund right there, could be yours. Four million dollars, just pull your gun out now and kill these…” He looked at Sevchenko and Sokoll, his lip curled. “These… things.”

Sevchenko retreated a few steps, looking genuinely worried now. Sokoll didn’t react at all. The whip went on rising and falling. Hannibal wondered if he didn’t understand English, or if he was just too engrossed in his work.

Kyle strode over and punched Hannibal in the stomach then looked over his shoulder at Anderson. “You get out of here.”

“Afraid he’s tempted, Dougie?” Hannibal gasped trying to double up, leaning against Kyle. He looked up, into Kyle’s eyes. “Afraid you will be?” He dropped his voice very low. “It’s not human, Doug. Put it down.” Kyle held Hannibal’s gaze for a moment, then pushed him away, let Hannibal fall back against the wall.

Face screamed again, then yelled out Hannibal’s name.

Hannibal at once snapped his gaze back to Face. the other men in the room no longer existed for him, all that existed was Face, his desperate eyes locked on Hannibal’s. This was the only way Hannibal could help, by being here, by trying to transmit the strength to get through the ordeal to Face. Face had strength, Hannibal knew, but in extremis he could start to doubt himself. Hannibal wouldn’t let him.

Part of Hannibal just wanted to bang his head against the tiled wall until he knocked himself unconscious. Until he didn’t have to hear Face’s screams and sobbing breaths any more, didn’t have to see his face distorted in pain, wet with sweat and tears.

But he knew he had to stay here, be here, for Face.

And for every stroke, every scream, he added an extra hour to the time he would take killing Sevchenko.

~~~~

Frankie fired one two three shots. Blinked at each one. But his hand didn’t shake, his arms stayed locked, straight. He lowered the pistol, engaging the safety and pressed the switch to bring the target up from the range to his position. He turned to Madari, taking off the ear defenders as the colonel did the same. The paper target arrived.

“Two in the chest, one in the head,” Madari said, sounding quite impressed. The bullet holes were dead centre on the target. “But, Frankie…”

“I know, I know,” Frankie said. “A paper target isn’t the same as a man. And a bad guy doesn’t just stand around waiting to be shot either. But I didn’t bring you here just to show you that I’m a good shot.” He glanced around. Other people were waiting to use the shooting position. “Come here.” He took Madari’s arm, took him over to the soda vending machine, and got them a couple of Cokes. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I haven’t kept practising shooting just as a hobby.”

“You want to be able to protect your family,” Madari said. “I understand that.”

“Yeah. Because…” Frankie hesitated. “Man, how to explain this.” 

He glanced around, at the noticeboard. The gun club’s annual tournament was coming up next month. Frankie had been the pistol shooting winner last year. He came here three or four times a week to practice. He was a better shot now than he’d ever been when he was with the team.

“You see,” Frankie said, becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I grew up, like most people, thinking the authorities were on my side. My family were honest people, law abiding, paid their taxes. I always thought that the government, the cops, the army, the CIA, all those guys, I always thought that they were there to protect me. And then I met General Stockwell.” He paused, shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it was really happening at first. Here was this guy, a general! A guy who clearly worked for the government, and he was threatening me, threatening my dad. Forcing me to spy on Johnny and the guys. It didn’t seem real.”

Madari didn’t speak, watched him, let him tell the story.

“And then I was forced to stay with the team. Now don’t get me wrong, I love those guys, but I never bargained for living with them! But I learnt something from them. Well lots of things of course. But I learnt that you can’t rely on the authorities to protect you. It’s not just a question of a rogue like Stockwell. Like Willis said, the team had been screwed over since Vietnam. By the army, by the government, by Stockwell. I learnt from them that the only people you can rely on to help you out are your friends.” He drank some of his soda, took a deep breath. This was a lot of talking, even for him. “So that’s why I have to come to Albania. The team are my friends and they’re in trouble. So I have to help them out, can you see that? I have to help them. It’s as simple as that.” He crushed the empty soda can, tossed it in the trash. Madari did the same, then offered Frankie his hand. Frankie took it. They shook hands and Madari smiled at him.

“Mr Santana, we have a plane to catch.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Seventeen. Eighteen. Jesus! Nineteen. Come on! Twenty. One more for luck. Twenty one.”

Murdock collapsed onto his blanket on to the floor. He lay panting. Twenty one push ups. Pretty lame, Captain. Of course he was half starved, exhausted and apt to go into a flashback at any given moment so it wasn’t so bad, considering.

As his breathing slowed down he stayed lying there, forehead resting on forearm. The blanket was starting to smell pretty nasty he noticed. He dismissed the thought quickly. Might smell funky, but it still keeps me from freezing to death. This blanket is my friend, stinky or not. He’d spent an uncountable number of hours lying wrapped in it feeling sorry for himself, too scared to even try to sleep. The nightmares came as soon as he closed his eyes. Drowning and yet not drowning. Never actually reaching the peace of death, while constantly in terror that it was only a second away.

“The name. The name. The name.” The never ending demand, barely audible over the roar of the water. “The name. The name. The name.” Like a gnat in his ear.

Murdock shook his head, throwing off the memories. No. No more brooding. Got to stay focused. Got to stay healthy. Got to stay strong. A chance could come any time. Got to be ready for it.

Brooding wasn’t getting him out of that door and out of this hell-hole.

He rolled onto his back and started doing sit ups.

~~~~

BA sat on his bunk, staring into darkness. He was cold, but his abused back was still too raw to allow him to wrap the blanket around his body. His neck felt especially cold. Cold and bare, stripped of his gold. He wondered where his jewellery was. Had the guards divided it between them, or were Kyle and Sevchenko hanging onto it? He wondered if that was how Sevchenko had got hold of enough money to stage this job, by stealing it over the years from his victims. BA could imagine that easily enough. A broken man handed a confession to sign. Signing anything put in front of him. Signing over the deed to his house. A house he wouldn’t need any more when they took him and his family out and shot them.

BA grimaced, tried to turn his mind away from such morbid thoughts. He thought about his friends instead, but those thoughts were hardly less morbid. Murdock had been uppermost in his thoughts lately. He wasn’t sure how long lately was, days or hours, but lately he’d been thinking about Murdock, because lately he’d been hearing Murdock. Hearing him screaming.

Murdock wasn’t far away, he knew for sure. BA had been hooded every time he’d been dragged him out of the cell. But as he’d struggled with the guards he’d sometimes heard them thump against metal, rather than stone. Another metal door. Another cell. Murdock.

The screams weren’t of pain, BA could tell. He could identify the different screams his friends let out, like a mother knows from her baby’s cry if its hungry, or lonely or sick. He knew Murdock was having nightmares. What did they do to you, fool? Sleep easy, man. They’ll pay.

The observation hatch opened suddenly and BA turned towards it, squinting at the shaft of light stabbing into the darkness. A face, un-identifiable to his dazzled eyes looked in at him . BA growled at the face and it disappeared again as the hatch was closed.

They think I’m an animal, BA thought. And he was happy to encourage the idea. They were so scared of him they wouldn’t think straight. They sure wouldn’t be ready for it when he did something smart.

~~~~

Frankie woke up as someone jostled him passing his seat. He looked around the jet’s cabin blearily. Miller hurried on past him down the aisle. Frankie sighed and stretched. He hated trying to sleep sitting up. At this rate he’d be exhausted by the time they got to Albania.

He grimaced at the sounds of retching he could hear from the bathroom. Man, he thought, poor Miller. They’d had a bit of turbulence, she must have a sensitive stomach. He saw Madari glance at him, from a seat across the aisle. Seeing Frankie was awake Madari leaned across the aisle to speak to him.

“I need to talk to you before the London stop-over. I have a few concerns.”

Only a few? Frankie thought. He had about a thousand himself. Number one being whether he got to go home again at the end of this. Though it was only hours since he’d said goodbye to Rosita it already felt like a week. And even longer since saying goodbye to the kids. He’d told the boys he was going on location for a while. They had wanted to know all about the picture of course.

“It’s the story of a band of brave soldiers who go to rescue some friends in trouble,” Frankie told them. Luis said it sounded “ace” and Juan asked if there’d be lots of stuff blowing up. And Frankie hugged them for a long time.

He’d said goodbye to Rosita in the car after she drove them the gun club. Madari waited on the sidewalk, feigning fascination with the notice of the firing range’s opening hours and fees. For once Frankie didn’t talk much. He didn’t want her to hear his voice shaking.

“Frankie?”

“Hmm?” Frankie looked at Madari, who frowned.

“I’m sorry, you’re tired, we’ll talk later.” They both leaned back a moment as Hassan hurried past up the aisle.

“No, I’m fine,” Frankie insisted. “What’s bothering you, Colonel?”

“Two things in the main. One is you.” He looked embarrassed then. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. But I think we need to get one thing very clear. You’re not coming up that mountain with us.”

“I thought we…” Frankie began and then stopped as Hassan hurried past again down the aisle, bumping Frankie’s shoulder. “This plane is too damn small,” Frankie muttered. “Look, I thought we agreed you’re not ditching me.”

“I’m not, but I’m not taking you into combat either,” Madari said, firmly. “There is a town near the target. You and Doctor Sullivan are going to stay there in a hotel and wait for us to bring the team to you.”

“When you say bring the team to ‘you’ there, you mean ‘her’, don’t you?” Frankie demanded.

“Well, yes. But, Frankie, she can’t stay there alone. She needs to be guarded.”

The woman in question passed them then, Hassan leading her up the aisle to the bathroom.

“… throwing up, she won’t let me in.”

Madari frowned and turned to watch Maggie knock on the door of the bathroom and then go in.

“Have you talked to Maggie about this?” Frankie asked. “Because she’s not going to like being ditched either.”

Madari turned back to Frankie. “She will have to accept it.”

“Well, good luck with that one,” Frankie said. He was looking forward to that conversation. Madari just gave him a dubious look. Frankie smiled at him. Okay, he thought, if I want in on the rescue, god help me, it looks like I’ll have to work on him with the old Santana charm.

In the cause of buttering up the colonel, Frankie got up to get them both coffee. When he came back with it Madari was turned in his chair again, watching Hassan who was standing nervously outside the bathroom door.

“Is Miller sick?” Frankie asked sitting down again.

“I don’t know.”

Maggie came out of the bathroom, she spoke quietly to Hassan, who looked worried and went into the bathroom. Maggie came back up the aisle. Madari stood up.

“Doctor, what is wrong? Is Agent Miller ill or just airsick? Will she be better by the time we get to Albania?”

Maggie rested her doctor’s bag on the arm of a seat. Suddenly everyone in the cabin was looking at her.

“I’m sorry, Colonel, I can’t discuss her medical condition. But I can say that she definitely won’t be better for a while yet.”

Wallace gasped and put a hand to her mouth, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Madari frowned, apparently baffled.

“I don’t understand, doctor. Are you saying she is…”

And from the bathroom they all heard Hassan’s shocked cry.

“Pregnant?”

Maggie sighed as they all turned back to stare at her. “Well it seems the cat’s out of the bag on this one.”

In a moment Hassan stumbled out of the bathroom wearing the exact same expression Frankie had seen on BA right after the application of a pre-flight two-by-four to the head. Frankie wanted to run up and shake the man’s hand and congratulate him heartily. And thank him. Because suddenly Frankie Santana was back on the mountain.

~~~~

Face lay on his bunk, feet hanging over the bottom edge. The slightest movement was agony to his beaten feet. The tiniest draught across the skin of his soles could make him grit his teeth and hiss in the cold air.

Unbelievably he’d found that his skin had only been broken a couple of time. The gorilla Sokoll was obviously well practised with that whip. Face felt as if his skin had been flayed down to the bone, but there were only a few shallow, if still agonising cuts. There was bruising though, the sensitive skin, that had been pale, was black and blue.

When they carried Face back to his cell he’d been almost unconscious from the pain and had spent hours lying in a daze. All he could see was Hannibal’s face, Hannibal’s eyes, giving him the strength to make it through. Just like in Vietnam. He gave them all strength. It’s what he does, Face thought. He’s got so much he strength he shares it, to help other people.

But does he have enough to get himself through this? Face saw what they were going to do. The best way to get at Hannibal wasn’t through physical pain, it was to force him to watch others in pain and be unable to stop it. That was Hannibal’s worst nightmare.

Face pulled the blanket closer around himself, moaning as the movement sent pain stabbing through his feet.

He wouldn’t be able to even try to walk again for several days and he’d be useless if any chance at escape came. That left a very bitter taste in his mouth. He hated the idea of having to be carried out like a bag of laundry supposing by some miracle rescue were to arrive.

Rescue. He’d dreamt of it again since the time he’d hallucinated Hannibal blasting in the door. This time it had simply been dark figures, a special operations squad, all in black, well armed. He’d woken with a cry as they burst into his cell in the dream, then lay back with a groan as he realised it was only his imagination, his desperation, conjuring up the rescuers. No-one is coming to rescue us, he thought. Even if we’ve been missed no one knows where we are.

We’re alone.

~~~~

“She’s off the mission,” Hassan said firmly, covering Miller’s legs with a blanket, before he stood up again.

“Abid, look, I’m not crippled, you know.” Miller was sitting beside Wallace, looking very embarrassed by all the attention. She pushed the blanket off her legs to the floor.

“She’s not climbing that mountain,” Hassan insisted, glaring at Madari. “Not in her condition.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Sergeant,” Madari said.

“But- Miller began.

“No. I’m sorry, but I won’t risk it. Besides you are clearly feeling unwell because of your condition.”

“I could give her something for that,” Maggie said. “But I don’t know if you’ll want to take any drugs.” She turned towards Miller.

“I’d rather not.”

“Then she is off the mission,” Madari said, “We’ll have to rework the plan of attack to account for one less.”

“No you won’t,” Frankie said, “I’ll take her place.”

“No.”

“Come on, Colonel. I’m telling you I’m fit enough to climb that mountain with you guys. Miller can stay at the hotel and guard the doctor. She can manage that, even in her condition.”

“If anybody else says ‘condition’, I’m going to kick his ass,” Miller said testily.

“Wait, since when is the doctor staying at a hotel?” Maggie said, frowning at Madari and Frankie.

“Ah yes, I was going to discuss that with you,” Madari said, gave Frankie a glare. “Later.”

“Well let’s discuss it now.” She stepped forward, close enough to make Madari take a step back. “You really think I’m going to sit and roll bandages and wait for you to come back? John and the others may need immediate medical attention.”

“All of us are trained in first aid,” Madari glanced at Frankie. “Doctor, it is better this way.”

“You think I can’t get up that mountain don’t you?”

“That’s not it,” Madari protested. He looked very uncomfortable, Frankie thought. Clearly he wasn’t used to dealing with a woman who talked back like Maggie.

“Then what? You know I was in Vietnam, I didn’t spend all that time in a MASH unit, I went on med-evac missions. I’ve been on the front line.”

“Doctor,” Madari snapped, suddenly losing the embarrassed look and frowning sternly. “I’ve made my decision. I am in command here. My word is final.”

Everyone stared at Maggie, waiting for the explosion. But instead she smiled.

“You know John tries that trick on me if I want to see a chick flick when we go to the movies.” Then she stopped smiling. “It doesn’t work for him either.”

Like the audience at a tennis match the gazes swung back to Madari, waiting for his next volley.

“It’s Hannibal I’m thinking of,” Madari said, changing tactics, his voice softer now. “He would never forgive me if I risked your life. And we need you to be safe and well. If you were hurt or even killed in the attack who would take care of the team, or any of us who might be injured on the mission?” Maggie didn’t answer, looked thoughtful. “We are a small team already, Doctor. If you come up the mountain with us I have to assign someone to protect you. We simply cannot afford that.”

“I think he’s right, Maggie,” Frankie said. She scowled at him and he swallowed nervously, but went on. “Johnny wouldn’t want you in danger. He’d kill us if anything happened to you.”

Maggie looked at them for a long moment, then she sighed heavily. “All right, you win. Evie and me will wait for you to bring the team down off the mountain. But…” She gave Madari a hard stare. “If anyone dies that I could have saved if I’d been there, I’m holding you…” She jabbed a finger at him, “…personally responsible.” She looked at Frankie. “And what about him? Does he get to go with you?”

Frankie looked at the colonel.

“I’m thinking about it,” Madari said, guardedly.

“That’s all I ask,” Frankie said, grinning. Maggie shook her head, made an expression of disgust.

The pilot’s voice came over the PA announcing they were about to begin their descent into London. Everyone took their seats. Frankie sat beside Madari who sighed and passed a weary hand over his eyes.

“Feisty lady,” Frankie said with a smile.

“Very,” Madari said, smiling slightly. Then he looked serious again. “I almost forgot the other concern I had. Before we file a flight plan in London I think we need to think about landing some where other than Tirana. It’s possible Kyle has someone watching the airport, and we are, well, a conspicuous group.”

“The guy we’re getting the guns off is meeting us in Tirana,” Frankie said. But he saw Madari’s point. They were indeed conspicuous.

“I know. We will have to travel there to meet him. Hopefully that won’t delay us too long.”

What would Johnny do? The words popped into Frankie’s head again.

“No, I’ve got a better idea. How long are we scheduled to stop over in London for?”

“Two hours.”

“That should be enough time.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see, Colonel. And you’ll learn about the number one, no arguments, most useful thing anyone in the movie business can have.”

“And what is that?”

Frankie grinned.

“Contacts, Colonel. Contacts.”


	12. Chapter 12

Hannibal had been given clothing. A rough grey shirt and pants. Like with the food he’d looked at them for a long time before finally deciding to put them on. What was this in aid of he wondered. Some sort of game? Or just to keep him from freezing to death? Well he’d be a fool not to take advantage. Clothes brought him one step closer to getting out. Escaping naked was possible, but not a good idea. He didn’t even know where they were. If the climate was cold out there then the clothes would at least give him a slightly better chance than he’d have had otherwise.

The observation hatch slid open and a guard checked him. Hannibal did his best to look old, tired and defeated. The way he felt right now meant that wasn’t too hard to fake. But he exaggerated it as much as possible. Shoulders slumped, head bowed. Let them think he was broken. Let them get complacent.

When the hatch slid closed again Hannibal looked at the door. He knew Face was only yards away from him. The longing to see Face was a physical ache. Was he okay? Stupid question, of course he wasn’t okay. Hannibal flinched as the images and sounds of Face being tortured punched through to the front of his mind. A jumble of images. Some from now, some from then. A whip, a cane. A Russian, a Vietnamese. A blur, with one thing sharp at the centre. Face. His face. His eyes. One sound, clear, hard. The screams.

Hannibal gasped and had to grab at the edge of his bunk to keep from falling, from diving down into the memories

Time to stop that. Focus. Here. Now. Getting out.

With a stab of guilt Hannibal put Face to the back of his mind, as much as was possible. He closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to think.

He needed a plan. Something a little more detailed than, get out of here, capture Sevchenko and make him die slowly and painfully. Actually he had a lot of detail in his mind for that last part. He hoped honey and fire-ants were freely available locally. But he knew he needed to work on the first part.

He kept his eyes closed, and in the dark began to work out the layout of the route between here and the torture room.

After that he began to think about the man who seemed to be Kyle’s second in command. Anderson. He began to think real hard about him. Greedy but squeamish. There had to be a way Hannibal could turn that to their advantage.

~~~~

Madari carefully draped the dark brown robe with the thick gold edging. He checked in the mirror to make sure his snowy white headdress wasn’t crooked, adjusted it carefully. He stood up straight and tall and spoke.

“I feel like an idiot.”

“ _You_ feel like an idiot!” Maggie’s voice was muffled.

“You look great!” Frankie said, enthusiastically.

“But this is… it’s formal wear,” Madari protested, “It would be like you walking around all day in a tuxedo. This iqal is terribly old fashioned.” He waved a hand at the gold trimmed cord holding the head scarf in place. “And the whole ensemble is frankly very Saudi Arabian.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m sure they’ll know all that in Albania.” Frankie rolled his eyes and looked over at the four women. They were covered head to foot in black cloth, even their eyes were almost invisible behind a mesh covered slit. He tried not to grin, was sure they were all scowling at him. He was willing to bet none of them had ever worn a burkha before.

Frankie had made a phone call the moment they landed in London, to a good friend he’d worked with on a couple of pictures. He’s turned on the Santana charm to full blast and just before they were due to take off again several crates with “Angels Costumiers” stencilled on the the sides had been delivered to the plane.

“This is never going to work,” Bennett said, struggling out of her burkha. She grabbed herself a can of cola from a table top, handed another one to Jahni who was standing beside her.

“Sure it is,” Frankie said. “It’s just what Hannibal would do. We don’t want to be spotted right? So we should look as if we couldn’t possibly be trying to hide. After all a group this conspicuous couldn’t possibly be trying to sneak into the country.”

He looked around at their dubious faces.

“You all have the story straight? Colonel, you’re Sheik Madari, on your way home, when your private jet develops engine trouble, forcing your pilots to land in Tirana for repairs. Of course you have an entourage. Me, your personal assistant and general fixer. Jahni and Hassan are your bodyguards.”

He glanced over at them wearing identical dark blue windcheater jackets and sunglasses, with coils of wire running from their ears. They had pretty identical scowls on their faces too. Jahni should fit right into the job of Madari’s bodyguard, Frankie thought.

“And the ladies are…”

“Don’t say it!” Maggie snapped. “You’re going to pay for this, Frankie.”

Frankie smiled weakly at her. “Now, Colonel, um, I mean, Sheik Madari, you just have to keep anyone from asking too many questions by acting like you own the place. Be haughty.”

Madari stiffened. “Haughty?”

“Yeah, you know.” Frankie sighed. These people were worse than actors, he thought, they just would not take direction. “Haughty. Superior. Like you expect your lightest command to be instantly obeyed.”

There was a moment of absolute silence and then Bennett spoke, in a tone of innocent enquiry.

“Gosh, sir, do you think you’ll be able to pull that off?”

Jahni snorted and started to make choking noises. Madari looked at him, frowning.

“Did you have something to say, Captain?” His voice was very formal and cool.

“No, sir…” Jahni gasped. “Sorry… soda went down… wrong way.” Bennett slapped him on the back, grinning. Jahni, his eyes watering, went on making sounds that might have been choking and might have been suppressed laughter. The others just stared at him and Bennett as if they were mad. Frankie grinned.

“There you go, Sheik, you got the haughty just right then. Great, um, acting.”

Frankie checked his own reflection in the mirror. He wore a conservative dark suit. It fitted well and looked smart. He glanced at his watch. Barely an hour before they landed. He looked around at the others. They were ready.

All set.

~~~~

“Anderson’s not coming back.”

“What?” Kyle stared at Berry who’d just got off the returning helicopter. Kyle had decided some of the men could use a night down in the local town, getting drunk, getting laid. Anderson especially needed that, he thought. Maybe then he’d get his act together.

“Not coming back,” Berry repeated. “Rang his bank to check his money so far was in there, then said he was going.”

Kyle rubbed a hand across his forehead. His head was pounding. Sleep had been elusive.

“You just let him go?”

“Was I supposed to stop him?” Berry asked. He rubbed his eyes blearily. “Christ, I need some sleep.”

“Did he leave any kind of message?” Kyle asked.

Berry looked thoughtful. “Does ‘fuck this shit’ count as a message?”

Kyle thought it probably did. Damn. He couldn’t believe it. Anderson was obviously unhappy, but he was also money hungry, Kyle knew. If he’d stuck around he could have earned thousands of dollars more.

“What about you, Berry?” Kyle asked. “You gonna run out on me too?”

“Nah, you can count on me, boss.” He grinned a yellow toothed smile. “I’m still quite attached to my kneecaps, and there’s some lads looking for me who’ll make sure I’m not attached to them any more if I don’t come up with the money I owe them pretty sharpish.”

“And what’s going on here…” Kyle nodded back at the house. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Seen worse.” Berry shrugged. “I mean, I’m not that keen on seeing proper soldiers like these lads being done over by that little spook bastard.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he shrugged again. “But what the hell, it’s all money.”

When Kyle reported to Sevchenko the Russian looked alarmed.

"Mr Kyle, I noticed that man Anderson seemed to be feeling some sympathy for my subjects.” Subjects now, Kyle noticed. Like they were lab rats being experimented on. “Are you sure he won’t go to the authorities?”

“Anderson’s wanted in at least ten countries,” Kyle said. “He’d be a fool to go anywhere near any kind of authorities.”

“Ah. Good. Then perhaps we are better off without him.”

“Yeah. I think we are.”

~~~~

Sheik Madari’s party approached the car hire desk at Tirana airport. Madari strode along, robe billowing out behind him, talking loudly in Arabic, in a complaining tone. Frankie walked at his side, nodding, pretending he understood the Arab and pretending to talk on his cell phone at the same time. Jahni and Hassan cased the area and occasionally talked surreptitiously into their sleeves. The four burkha clad women followed in single file. Frankie thought Maggie was the one in the lead, but it was very hard to tell. Porters followed with their luggage on a trolley.

Frankie actually felt sorry for the clerk who stood at the desk with a fixed smile and a dismayed look in his eyes as the party approached.

“Hi,” Frankie said, laying his briefcase on the counter and taking off his sunglasses. “You speak English? Great. The limos are ready?”

“Limos?”

“For Sheik Madari’s party. Come on, man. I called an hour ago.”

The clerk started shuffling through papers. “Erm, I’m sorry, I don’t have…” He pulled himself together. “We, erm, we don’t have any limousines, we do have some Mercedes available, if that will…”

“Right, right.” Frankie sighed. The scary thing he thought was that while plenty of what he was doing right now was channelling Face, it was also a situation he’d personally witnessed many times when demanding stars showed up on location. He handed over the credit card to the clerk, who started to tap details into his computer screen. “Come on man, get it done. We’ll need a car for His Excellency and another for his wives.”

The clerk stared wide eyed at the four women. “They’re all… ah, yes, sir. ”

“Santana,” Madari said, his accent laid on very thick, “what is the delay?” He scowled at the clerk.

“I’ll show you to the vehicles myself,” the clerk said hurriedly, flinching under the stare. He led the way, speaking rapidly into a walkie talkie as he went. Madari continued complaining in Arabic, though for all Frankie knew he could be bemoaning the fortunes of his favourite soccer team. Frankie walked with the clerk, caught his gaze and did an eye roll.

“I’ll never hear the end of this,” Frankie said, quietly. “Somehow it’s all my fault his plane developed engine trouble.” The clerk gave a small sympathetic smile. “If he’s late for that big OPEC meeting I’m going to be out on my ass.”

In a moment they left the terminal and stepped out into the cool morning air. Two large Mercedes pulled up at the curb. A couple of bored looking men in the hire company’s overalls got out. Hassan at once pushed past one of the men and checked out the interior of the car. He stood up again and nodded. The clerk stared. The porters started to load the luggage.

“Don’t worry,” Frankie said. “After all no-one knows the Sheik is here. I’m sure no-one will try to assassinate him.” He paused for a beat. “Again. Ladies.” He waved the women into the car, smiling broadly. “His Excellency may send for one of you later at the hotel.”

Frankie realised he’d gone too far when Madari started to splutter and apparently, cough, into his hand. Frankie gave him a quick glare. Don’t start corpsing now, man, he thought. The coughing covered the sound of a very quiet Australian voice saying. “In his dreams he will.” The women got inside and Hassan slammed the door after them and got into the driver’s seat.

Jahni did a sweep of the next car and gave the go ahead to enter. Frankie and Madari got in the back and Jahni took the wheel.

“Thanks, pal.” Frankie pressed a generous tip into the clerk’s hand, through the window. He rolled the window up and leaned back in the seat with a relieved, sigh, then he smiled. “I’d forgotten how much fun that stuff is.” Jahni grinned at him in the mirror and drove off, following the other Mercedes.

“You did very well, Frankie.” Madari pulled off the head dress and ran his hands through his hair. He smiled. “Face would be proud.”

“He taught me everything I know,” Frankie said.

“Give me the briefcase, please, and your cell phone,” Madari said. Frankie handed them over. Madari looked through a folder in the case. “It’s twenty five kilometres to Tirana. I’ll call the contact now and see if he can meet us as soon as we arrive.”

Frankie nodded. He looked through the windscreen at the car ahead of them that the four women were travelling in. “Can you guys really have more than one wife?”

“Hmm?” Madari said, dialling the phone. “Oh, yes, the Koran allows a man to take up to four wives.” He held the phone to his ear as he waited for the call to be connected.

“Wow,” Frankie said. “Four wives.” He shook his head. “Four wives. Imagine that.” He’d always found it hard to believe his luck that he’d been able to find even one woman willing to put up with him. Finding four sounded like a near impossible task.

“One was enough for me,” Madari said. Frankie frowned, started to speak, but Madari held up his hand, spoke into the phone. “Ah, hello, is that Mr Evans?”


	13. Chapter 13

“BA, look at me,” Hannibal ordered. BA didn’t obey. He kept his face turned away from Hannibal and screamed as the electricity tore through him again.

“Damn it, look at me, sergeant!” Hannibal yelled. Still BA didn’t. Oh god, Hannibal thought, he’s ashamed. He’s ashamed of screaming. Damn fool pride. Hannibal hadn’t heard BA scream since Vietnam. He’s heard him make some very strange noises when they put him on planes, and sometimes threw him out of planes with a parachute on his back. But not for nearly twenty years had he heard BA give a full throated scream of agony.

If BA looked at him Hannibal could help. As he’d helped Face, given him strength, taken part of the agony away. To be alone with the pain was the worst. Let me share it, BA, give me your pain. Give it to me.

Tears stung Hannibal’s eyes as BA fell back shaking and panting when the current cut off. The doctor moved in, at Sevchenko’s order, to check BA’s heart rate. They were being cautious after what happened with Hannibal.

Hannibal wouldn’t let his tears fall. Never. His own damn fool pride wouldn’t let Sevchenko see them. Or Kyle, who stood on guard as usual. Anderson wasn’t with Kyle this time. A shorter, dark haired man, with a lot of tattoos and a bored expression accompanied him instead.

“Hey, Dougie,” Hannibal called, taking advantage of the brief respite as the doctor examined BA. “I don’t think much of your new boyfriend. Where’s the old one?”

The ‘new boyfriend’ strode up to Hannibal and punched him in the mouth.

“Less of that lip, mate, or I’ll cut yer balls off.”

Hannibal licked blood from his lips. “This one seems tougher though, I’ll give him that.” Hannibal smirked at Kyle. “You like a bit of rough, Dougie?” This time the blow rattled Hannibal’s skull and bounced his head of the wall. He slumped forward dizzy.

“Berry,” Kyle said, glancing at Sevchenko, who was watching disapprovingly. He went up and grabbed Berry’s arm to restrain him from landing yet another blow. “That’s enough.” He pushed Berry back and leaned close to Hannibal. “You want to know where Anderson is? I shot him.” Hannibal snapped his head up, stared at Kyle. “Yeah, he was soft, I…”

BA’s scream of agony interrupted Kyle. Ashamed of himself for being distracted by indulging in banter, Hannibal turned back to BA, yelled again. “Look at me, BA. Please, look at me!”

At last BA did as he was ordered. Hannibal had to swallow over and over to keep the sob down as it tried to rise in his throat. Once again his mind whirled with a mix of memory and reality as he saw BA back in the POW camp. So young, so scared and trying so hard to hide it. He was trying hard again now, but Hannibal could see terror in his dark eyes.

Then Sevchenko stepped between them, so they could no longer see each other.

“Do not look at him,” Sevchenko told BA. “He is no longer your master, I am.”

Hannibal growled low in his throat, but BA spoke quietly.

“He was never my master. He’s my leader. You ain’t never gonna be either.”

Hannibal blinked hard, swallowed hard. Kyle was looking right at him. He would not let one single tear escape him.

It actually became easier when BA started to scream again. Because then Hannibal could concentrate on the anger. Concentrate on letting it fill him, pumping out from his heart with the blood, right to the tips of his fingers, the ends of his fingernails, the ends of his hair until he was a living mass of rage. For a moment he pulled uselessly at the manacles chaining him to the wall, then calmed himself. But he didn’t let the rage ebb. He just let it get more and more refined. Sharper, harder. He glared it into the back of Sevchenko’s neck, like he could actually break the skin, stab down through flesh and muscle into spinal cord, brain stem.

He’d laughed when saying the words “if looks could kill” about some of BA’s glares. He wasn’t laughing now. Now he was trying to make it real, trying make a man die just by looking at him.

He was focusing so hard that he was startled when Sevchenko turned around. The Russian saw Hannibal’s homicidal glare on him and he smiled. I’m giving him exactly what he wants, Hannibal thought. But he had no choice.

“I think we’re done with Baracus for today,” Sevchenko said to Kyle, who stepped away from Hannibal and spoke into his walkie talkie.

“Now, John. Which of them next? Peck or Murdock? It’s your decision. Who do I torture next?”

The same answer. It would always be the same, Hannibal swore.

“Me.”

Sevchenko turned to Kyle. “Murdock.”

~~~~

Frankie drummed his fingers on the table then glanced at his watch.

“He’s late.”

“Arms dealers aren’t known for their punctuality,” Madari said. “He’ll be here.” He glanced at the small glass in front of Frankie. “Drink your raki.”

Frankie snorted. Jahni had tried it, gone into a violent coughing fit and his eyes had streamed for five minutes. Frankie had decided to give the drink a miss.

“You first,” Frankie said, glancing at the also untouched glass in front of the colonel.

The four of them were at a table in the darkest corner of a dark bar, somewhere in darkest Tirana. The costumes had been left back at a hotel and they wore casual but practical clothes. The women had also been left back at the hotel, and Frankie decided two seconds after they arrived that this had been the right decision. This didn’t look like the kind of bar that had a ladies night or sold drinks with fruit and little paper umbrellas in them.

“This guy couldn’t have met us in the hotel bar?” Frankie wondered out loud, glancing around at the other men in the bar, who were eyeballing the strangers suspiciously. Wondering which of us to eat first, Frankie thought.

“Arms dealers aren’t known for their love of brightly lit places either. Ah, I think this is him.”

A man had come in. He glanced around and headed for their table.

“Alone?” Jahni said.

“He’ll have men outside,” Hassan said. He and Jahni both rose and stood behind Frankie and Madari’s chairs. The man arrived at their table. He was a lean and hard looking man in his forties, with a weather beaten face. His brown leather coat looked as if it had been hit by a truck and reversed over. After giving the party an assessing stare he turned to Frankie.

“You Santana?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. He rose and offered the man his hand. He was surprised when Madari didn’t do the same. The colonel just watched the man carefully, arms folded.

“Er, Mr Evans, right,” Frankie said as they sat down.

“Evans, yeah.” His accent was hard for Frankie to place. Maybe Canadian.

“Right,” Frankie said, “hey, have a drink.” He pushed his glass over to Evans. “You can deliver the…” Frankie glanced around, lowered his voice. “The goods.”

Evans looked at him strangely, spoke in a normal voice. “Yeah. Ordnance and equipment. The vehicles too, all to spec.” He picked up the glass of raki and drank if off in one gulp.

“Great.” Frankie grinned.

“The money has been transferred?” Madari asked.

“If it hadn’t I wouldn’t be here, chum.” He glanced between Frankie and Madari and then addressed Madari as he took a folded map from his pocket. A point in the countryside outside the city had been circled.

“Here’s where we’ll do the handover. Tomorrow morning, four am.”

“Tomorrow?” Frankie said, dismayed. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. He’d hoped they could set out from Tirana today.

Madari sat forward. “Why tomorrow? Why not today? Can’t we go now?”

“Keep your pants on, Sinbad. The stuff isn’t even in the country now. Tomorrow morning, four am. That’s the earliest you can get it.”

“If it’s a question of more money…” Frankie said.

“It’s not. It’s a question of the stuff not being here till tomorrow morning four am. Aren’t you fellas getting that? You need me to say it slower?”

Madari sat back, folding his arms again. “All right, we will meet you as arranged.” He scowled. “Please do not be late again. We are pressed for time.”

The arms dealer nodded, stood up. “Sure, whatever you say. See you tomorrow.” He nodded at Jahni and Hassan. “And bring leashes for your Dobermans.” He left with their glares boring into his back.

Frankie drummed his fingers on the table again. “Damn, pretty much a whole damn day to wait.” He glanced at the map. The area circled had a road nearby, but the rest of the area was blank white paper. “And talk about the middle of nowhere,” he said, with a sigh. Madari looked at the map too, frowned.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “A very isolated place to be meeting with a man we have no reason to trust.” Frankie looked at him. Madari looked worried, but then he smiled. “Frankie, can you get cash with that credit card Farrell gave you?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s go to the bank. And after the bank, the pawnbrokers.”

~~~~

After they took BA out Sevchenko and Markovic went off to take a break. Berry left to supervise the men bringing Murdock down. Kyle stayed to guard Hannibal. He leant against the door and lit a cigarette.

Hannibal’s cravings for a cigar came back instantly when he smelled the tobacco smoke. He thought about the box of Montecristos that he’d last seen in his hotel room in Venice and wondered where they were now. Probably been shared out by the bellboys.

He shook himself. No time for that. Work to do.

“You know, Kyle,” he said, making Kyle turn to look at him, “You know what I still can’t believe?” He paused, made Kyle wait, saw the curiosity in his eyes. “I still can’t believe that even you would sell out your country. Would work for the enemy.”

Kyle laughed. “What enemy? What the hell are you talking about, Smith?”

“That thing is KGB, Kyle. The other side. The enemy, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“What are you behind on current affairs?” Kyle asked. “The wall came down, we’re all friends now.”

“Not with that,” Hannibal said, coldly. “How many American agents do you think he… it has tortured?”

Kyle just shrugged. “Who cares?”

Hannibal shook his head. “Selling your skills is one thing, I suppose that’s what I do too. But selling your country, Doug? Now I know you’re a bastard, but I never had you pegged as an actual traitor.”

“And I never had you pegged as an idiot.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I am, thinking you had even a shred of integrity. That certainly makes me an idiot.”

Kyle walked over to Hannibal slowly. He took a drag at his cigarette and blew the smoke in Hannibal’s face. That was meant as a provocation Hannibal knew, but he just smiled and said, “thanks.”

Kyle looked at the cigarette, looked at Hannibal.

“Go on, Dougie. You are going to burn me with it, aren’t you?” He was daring Kyle to do it. “Come on, you’re going to put it out on my skin. Those scars never go away. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

Kyle just looked at Hannibal for a long time and then turned away.

“You didn’t really shoot Anderson, did you?”

Kyle’s back stiffened then he walked away and opened the door. Hannibal grinned fiercely at him. Then the grin vanished as they dragged in Murdock, hooded, stumbling. He was hauled struggling onto the table. Once the guards secured him they pulled the hood off. He blinked in the bright lights and then saw Hannibal chained to the wall.

“Hannibal! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Murdock.”

“Face? BA?”

He had figured it out straight away, Hannibal realised. That the rest of them were being tortured in front of Hannibal. Which meant he’d seen them.

“Alive, both hurt. Face can’t walk, his feet are…”

“Shut up,” Kyle snapped. “Shut up or I’ll shoot both of you.” He looked angry enough to do it.

Hannibal did shut up, just looked at Murdock. Murdock looked back at him, then turned and looked at Kyle and Berry. He turned back to Hannibal, spoke one word.

“Albania.”


	14. Chapter 14

BA lay still on his bunk, on his back, eyes open, staring into the darkness.

The tray holding a cup of water and two chunks of bread stood untouched beside the hatch in the bottom of the door. The guards had pushed it in half an hour ago.

The observation hatch was pulled open. A shaft of light. Voices. American accents. BA lay still.

“Watch him while I get the tray.”

The food hatch opened, the tray was pulled out quickly.

BA lay still.

“He’s not touched it. Is he asleep?”

“I guess. He’s not moved. Hang on.”

The lights flickered on. BA lay still.

“Well? He wake up?”

“No. Hey, Baracus, you missed dinner.”

No reaction.

The guard banged hard on the metal door.

“Hey, wake up, you big, dumb asshole.”

No reaction.

“Shit, I think he’s dead.”

“What? No way.”

The keys rattled in the lock and the door opened. One guard approached BA, the other waited at the door. The first guard looked down at BA. BA’s eyes were open, staring straight up. His mouth was slightly open. The guard waved a hand over BA’s face. The eyes didn’t move.

“Shit, I’m telling you, he’s dead. Better get the doc…” The man reached down and put a hand on BA’s neck, searching for a pulse.

BA’s grabbed the wrist of the hand touching him, and then he was up, wrenching the man’s arm up behind his back until he heard a bone break and the man screamed in pain. The other guard ran in fast, tugging out his gun. Not fast enough. BA got rid of the first man, throwing him head first into the wall and met the second guard’s rush. He sidestepped fast, grabbed the gun arm in one hand, ripping the gun from the guard’s grip with the other and smashing it hard into his face. The man fell down. BA ran out of the door before the other two guards on the cell block could react.

“Weapons and radios on the floor, now, or you’re dead!”

Faced with the huge, naked man, holding a gun dripping with their colleague’s blood the guards didn’t hesitate to surrender.

“Keys. Now!”

They both handed him bunches of keys.

“Right, clothes.” They hesitated for a second. “I’ll take ’em with holes in ’em.” BA warned. They started to strip.

“Boots too. Now, inside.” The two guards in their underwear moved into BA’s cell. BA had them throw out the first two guards’ walkie talkies and weapons, then locked the door behind them. He took a second to get a breath. He was shaking, but knew that was his muscles objecting to the sudden activity after lying in one position for so long. Then he pulled himself together. He found the largest of the guards’ discarded pants and shoved them on quick. Then the boots. Neither pair fitted, but he put them on anyway. He picked up the other clothes and boots.

“Murdock,” BA said, unlocking the door of the other cell, turning on the light. “It’s me, we getting out of here.”

The lights came on and BA stared. It wasn’t Murdock lying on the bunk, wrapped up in a blanket.

“Face?” Damn it, they’d moved them around. Wait, who had they moved? BA wondered. Face and Murdock, or me? He’d been hazy and confused when they brought him back from the session earlier. They could easily have taken him to a different place and he’d have had no idea. The cells were identical.

Never mind. He ran to Face, who was stirring and trying to sit up. He shook Face’s shoulder.

“Wake up, man, come on.”

Face looked back at him with eyes that were dazed and cloudy. Hell, he’s drugged, BA realised. Can I carry him? Maybe fireman’s carry.

“Come on, Faceman, sit up, lemme get these clothes on you.” Maybe he could get Face awake enough to at least stumble along with BA’s help. He unwrapped Face from the blanket, lifted him to sit up, pulled his legs down off the bunk.

And he flinched back at the cry of pain Face let out when his feet touched the floor. Face pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around them. BA gasped at the sight of Face’s swollen, black and blue feet. For a moment his vision surged red as rage almost overwhelmed him. But there was time later for that, time later for anger, time later for vengeance.

“Face,” he said, softly, “sorry I hurt ya. Let me help you get dressed.” He struggled to help Face into the clothes. Face started to wake up more as BA helped him, but even so it was like trying to dress a toddler.

“BA,” Face said, his voice shaky “Go without… go alone. I can’t walk… slow you down too much.”

“Shut up, man,” BA said, fastening the buttons on Face’s shirt quickly, all misaligned. BA discarded the boots. Face was right about one thing. He wasn’t walking anywhere. BA knelt down on one knee in front of Face. “Okay, Face, I’m gonna carry you over my shoulder.” Face looked like he wanted to protest further, but BA had no time to listen. “Just lean forward, I’ll catch ya.” Face leaned and then simply fell forward over BA’s shoulder. BA caught him, held on tight, and stood up. He groaned with the pain of the welts on his back and the various bruises. His knees shook. He was weaker than usual from the abuse and the lack of food and water and he was just getting too old for this.

“Like a bag of laundry.” He heard Face mutter.

“Yeah, man,” BA said. He carried Face out of the cell. No sign of trouble so far. Clearly no one had managed to raise the alarm before BA had disarmed them. BA had one pistol in his hand and one walkie talkie clipped to his waistband. The others he had in a shirt that he was carrying as an improvised bag.

All set.

~~~~

Hannibal strained against the manacles as Kyle punched Murdock again.

“Which of the guards told you?” Kyle demanded.

Hannibal had seen him flush with rage when when Murdock had said “Albania”. But he’d had no chance to do anything then, because Sevchenko showed up and started the session. Electricity. Murdock’s screams joining Face’s and BA’s in the new chamber of horrors in Hannibal’s memory.

Sevchenko wanted Murdock’s name. Murdock’s precious, ridiculous secret. Hannibal knew it, and it took every scrap of willpower he had not to scream it out. Because there was that twist. Sevchenko said that when Murdock gave up the name then he would kill him. Twist was the right word for it. Twisted and evil, what else would come from the mind of this vile demon?

Two hours, two unbearable hours had passed with Murdock’s screams ringing in Hannibal’s ears until finally Sevchenko and Markovic had decided to go and take a break. As soon as they left the room Kyle snapped “watch the door” at Berry, ran over to Murdock and and started punching him in the ribs. Murdock, exhausted, trembling, tried to flinch away, but the restraints kept him in place.

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Hannibal yelled. “He’s had enough.”

Murdock must have known this would be likely reaction to his revelation, Hannibal realised, but he’d also realised they weren’t going to be left alone and if he wanted to pass on the information he was going to have to do it with an audience.

“Which one on them?” Kyle demanded again. He punched Murdock in the mouth this time and his fist came back with blood on it. “Which of the morons let it slip?”

Despite his exhaustion and pain Murdock managed a bloodied grin at Kyle.

“That would be you, Dougie.”

Kyle stopped, stared at him.

“‘I want to be in Albania by tonight’,” Murdock quoted, his voice quiet and cracked. “You assumed I was out. Never assume.” His voice took on a school ma’am-like tone. “To assume makes an ass of you and me.” He grinned maliciously, spoke in his normal voice again. “Though in this case just you really.”

Hannibal saw Berry smirk, and saw Kyle scowl and raise his fist again.

Sevchenko walked back in the door.

“What’s going on?”

~~~~

“And just how do you think you’re gonna fight with me draped over your shoulder like a fox fur?” Face asked BA quietly, as BA made his way down a stone corridor, sticking close to the wall

BA didn’t answer. A fox fur. He smiled slightly. His great aunt used to wear one of those, whatever the weather. He remembered he’d convinced his cousin Phyllis that the glass-eyed thing was actually still alive and would bite her if she got too close. That had earned him a week of doing the dishes.

He shook himself. Face was right. BA had to get Face somewhere safe and then go after Hannibal and Murdock. Outside. It had to be outside. And that would give them an idea of where they were and what was going on out there, so BA would know if there was anything else he needed to pick up.

BA heard footsteps coming towards them. He looked around in the dimness and saw a niche in the wall with an ugly statue in it. In a flash he was in the niche, squeezing past the statue, ignoring Face’s groan. He got as far back into the niche as possible, till they were swallowed up in the blackness. In a moment he heard voices and footsteps. He froze in place, as still as the hideous statue they shared the niche with. Face seemed to not even be breathing. Two men went past, talking, laughing. They were speaking what sounded German. Their voices and footsteps faded and BA came back out of the niche into the corridor.

“Kyle’s got himself a real United Nations of thugs,” Face said. BA nodded.

“Yeah. Keep quiet, I think we nearly at the front door.”

BA crept slowly down the corridor, checked around the corner and pulled back. Stairs, down into an entrance hall. And the door to the outside. BA waited, listening. Face lay limp and quiet, making BA wonder if he’d drifted off into drugged sleep again. No sound or movement. There were windows in the entrance hall, and they showed BA that it was dark outside. Night, he thought. But how late? Late enough that most of the men are asleep?

He had to move. Someone could find the guards missing on the cell block any time and then it would hit the fan. He had to take a chance and move. Stealthy, silent he descended the staircase. In his head he was thinking over and over “float like a butterfly”. He would get to the stinging like a bee part soon. Meanwhile he moved with a stealthiness that would have surprised people who saw him only as a big dumb animal. BA reached the front door and spoke quietly.

“Face, I’m gonna put you down.”

He lowered Face to sit against the wall. Face’s eyes were glazed but he was still awake.

“Hold on, man, I need to check outside.”

The door wasn’t locked.

“That means patrols,” Face said quietly. BA nodded in agreement. And he worried that it also meant that them getting outside wasn’t that big a worry to their captors. He opened the door just a crack, peeked out.

“Oh, man.” The first thing he saw was the last thing he wanted to see. “A helicopter.” His least favourite machine in the world. Except for that one downstairs with the dials and the electrodes.

A man was guarding the chopper. He walked up and down, smoking a cigarette. Suddenly he stopped and turned, waved a hand. Another man walked past, only yards from the door. BA stiffened, but the patrolling man didn’t come to the door. He went to the man beside the helicopter, got a light from him. They chatted for a few minutes, BA couldn’t hear them well enough to know what they were saying, or even if it was in English. Then the patrolling man left again.

“We need to get to the chopper,” BA said quietly, turning back to Face. “But there ain’t no way to get close without being seen. I could pretend to be a guard, but none of the ones I’ve seen is black so I don’t think that’s gonna fly.”

“Well you aren’t the only one wearing the guard’s clothes,” Face said.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who can walk,” BA pointed out. “And if I’m carrying you it’s kinda hard to pretend I’m your prisoner…” He stopped, and smiled a smile that made Face look very worried.

“What?”

A moment later BA emerged from the front door of the house. The guard on the chopper looked up, then went to draw his gun.

“Drop it,” BA ordered. He pressed his pistol against the head of the man he held in front of him. The helicopter guard peered through the dark, saw a man in green fatigues like his own being held in front of BA, one huge arm around his body. The man’s head was slumped forward like he was unconscious.

“Drop it,” BA ordered again, moving forward, ever closer to the chopper. He could feel Face trembling. BA’s arm shook with the strain as he tried to pull Face up to keep his feet off the ground. “Do it now, or your friend is dead.” The guard did as BA said, tossed away his pistol, raised his hands. BA kept moving towards him. Suddenly the guard frowned, he was looking down, at Face’s bare feet.

“Wait, you’re not…” BA dropped Face, sickened by, but ignoring the cry Face made as he fell. The guard tried to retrieve his gun, but BA got to him first, kicked him in the face as he bent to grab the weapon. The man fell senseless to the ground. BA checked he was really out and ran back to Face. He scooped Face up in his arms and quickly, his back screaming at him for it, he shoved Face into the open side door of the helicopter.

“Try and hide, Face,” he said. Face nodded. He was pale and strained looking, legs drawn up. “I’ll be back, with Hannibal and Murdock, get you out of here, okay?”

Face nodded again. “If Murdock’s hurt too bad to fly…” He said.

BA didn’t want to think about that. Assume the best until he knew otherwise. He grabbed the guard and pulled him into the shadows behind the helicopter. The man patrolling around the house would spot he was missing when he got round here. BA hoped he was taking his time, maybe lurking in a sheltered spot to smoke his cigarette out of the chilly wind that was blowing.

It was so dark that BA could see little of their surroundings. There were lights somewhere in the distance, a town or village perhaps, but it was impossible to gauge how far off. The chilly air felt thin to him. They were somewhere high he thought. Like up a mountain maybe. Well if he had to choose between climbing down it or flying off it even he would choose flying. Which meant he had better get in there and get the fool out. He nodded at Face.

“Good luck,” Face said.

“Thanks. Get outta sight, man.”

BA turned away, hating to leave Face alone. He ran back to the house.

~~~~

Face crawled deep inside the helicopter. It felt so strange to be so cold in a Huey. The familiar shapes around him, familiar even in the dark, were paired inextricably with hot damp air. So strange to feel cold in here.

He shook his head, trying to clear the clouds in his mind. Memories of dust offs and med-evac flights tried to overwhelm him, but he resisted, forced himself to stay in the present. The pain in his feet helped with that. Not to mention the fact he wanted to stay alive and awake to have a little discussion with BA about the sergeant’s idea to use him as a hostage.

Face looked around, looked forward at the cockpit. He hoped BA managed to get Murdock out. He hoped Murdock was okay to fly. If he wasn’t…

If he wasn’t there were other options. Face got to his hands and knees, crawled forward. No pain, his mind insisted, over the insistent arguments from his body. There’s no pain. He reached the cockpit and hauled himself up against one of the pilot’s seats. And he saw what he was looking for. Most of the controls in here were a mystery to Face, he couldn’t fly the helicopter.

But he could operate the radio.


	15. Chapter 15

BA found the second cell block and found it empty. He knew what that meant. Hannibal and Murdock were downstairs. In that… dungeon.

That was going to be a tricky one. There was a narrow staircase down to it. If there was a man at the bottom of those stairs he couldn’t fail to spot BA coming down. BA would have no chance to take him out before he raised the alarm. Even if BA shot him that would alert those inside the dungeon.

He needed a way to get down those stairs and keep the guard from raising the alarm. He needed a hostage. A real one.

So BA waited. He found another wall niche, empty this time, not far from the stairs down to the dungeon and he waited. And as soon as someone passed BA leapt out and grabbed the passing man around the throat.

And he regretted his choice at once. Because it was Kuprin.

~~~~

The frequency. Face tried to think through the buzzing in his head. Emergency distress frequency. He tried to remember conversations with Murdock, ones that he hadn’t tuned out.

Aviation distress frequencies. Well he was in a helicopter. Okay, it was on the ground, but he was definitely in distress.

243MHz? Was that it? No, no. That was military. 121.5 for civilians. And it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t see the controls clearly enough to set the right frequency anyway.

Didn’t matter; a distress call was a distress call whatever the frequency. He turned the dials, spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Mayday mayday mayday. Can anyone hear me? Mayday mayday mayday.”

~~~~

BA struggled with Kuprin. They had fallen to the ground. BA had an arm clamped tight around the big Russian’s throat, keeping him from yelling, or using his walkie talkie. But BA knew he was going to lose. Maybe at full strength he could have taken Kuprin, but now he was weakened, starved, dehydrated, exhausted. His only chance was if he cut off the man’s breathing permanently. He pressed harder, but Kuprin was pushing BA’s arm with both his hands and very gradually he dislodged it just far enough to get the breath to yell, roar.

“Help me!” And then he sank his teeth into BA’s arm and BA yelled in pain. Kuprin slipped free of BA’s arm, away from him. He turned before BA could rise, planted a knee in BA’s gut. BA heard feet running up the steps, saw a man emerge. Kuprin pulled out his walkie talkie and started shouting into it.

“All units, all units. Prisoner escape in progress.” Without even looking he punched the struggling BA hard in the face. BA slumped back, dizzy. More shapes gathered around him. Blows came from all sides and he slipped down into blackness.

~~~~

“All units, all units. Prisoner escape in progress.” Kyle and Berry’s radios chorused.

“Bloody hell!” Berry ran out of the torture chamber, drawing his gun. Kyle followed. Sevchenko started to follow him, but Kyle stopped him.

“No, you’re safest locked in here. That’s the protocol.”

“But…” Sevchenko looked around at Hannibal and Murdock.

“They’re secured. Just stay well away from them.” Kyle strode out. Sevchenko stared after him, then ran and rammed home the bolts on the inside of the door as he had before. Except then he’d been locked in with his friend Doctor Markovic. The men he was locked in with now were not his friends.

Sevchenko looked at them both nervously. Hannibal’s disgust rose like bile in his throat. The creature was a coward. Standing over a bound man, with a squad of armed guards at his back he was confident, even arrogant. But on his own he was scared of his own shadow. So he turned real men, men with nerve and honour, with real courage, into broken trembling wrecks, weaker even than himself.

That’s what he’s about, Hannibal thought. He wants to break anyone who’s not afraid of him. Anybody he’s afraid of.

“Vassily.” Murdock almost sang the word. “They’re coming to get you.” Sevchenko stared at Murdock then he retreated up against the wall near the door. “Imagine,” Murdock went on. “What BA will do to you when he gets in here.” He grinned. His teeth were bloody and made him look demonic. “Remember, Hannibal, what BA did to that Vietcong major, after the camp got liberated? The one that liked the cane so much?”

“Oh yeah.” Hannibal drew out the word ‘yeah’ like he was relishing the memory. “That was practically a war crime. I’d have arrested him on the spot…” He smirked at Sevchenko. “If I hadn’t been laughing so much.”

Sevchenko was pressed into the corner by the door now.

“He doesn’t even have a gun,” Murdock said.

“He’s scared of them,” Hannibal said. “If he did have a gun the smartest thing would be to use it on himself wouldn’t it, Captain?”

“It sure would be,” Murdock said. “If he was smart he’d go to that cupboard and find something in there to end it right now. Because once BA gets in here…”

“Shut up!” Sevchenko yelled, his voice high and near hysterical. “Shut up, or I’ll kill both of you now!”

“Well that would just make BA really mad,” Hannibal said. “And the last guy who made him really mad, well let’s just say even dental records couldn’t identify him.”

“Shut up!”

“Aww.” Hannibal put on a mocking sympathetic tone. “You gonna cry, Vassily?”

~~~~

“Mayday mayday mayday,” Face repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. He got nothing but hiss in reply. “Mayday mayday mayday. Mayday mayday mayd…”

“Roger, mayday, transmit your position, over.”

Face dropped the hand set as a male voice suddenly burst out of the speaker. He scrambled to pick up the mic, heart racing.

“Hello? Hello?” Face gasped. “You can hear me?”

“Transmit your position. Over.” The voice was in heavily accented English.

Face looked around wildly. Position? The best he could do was ‘Earth’. He didn’t know his position, he didn’t even know what country he was in.

“Negative. I don’t know my position. I’m a hostage, one of four. A dozen hostiles at least. We need help. Over.”

“I need your position,” the voice insisted.

Face didn’t know if the man could understand much of what Face was saying. Damn, damn, damn. Probably just some ham radio hobbyist.

“I don’t know where I am. It’s night here, I can’t see anything. Triangulate this transmission, please. Shit!” Searchlights stabbed down into the area outside the helicopter. A grim looking house came into view. The prison he’d escaped from. Not far enough. Men poured out of a door, spread out. Face’s gut went cold. BA. BA could be dead. He dropped to the floor of the chopper, bringing the radio handset with him. He didn’t know if the mysterious voice on the other end could understand, but he spoke anyway, more quietly, desperation tingeing his voice.

“Please triangulate this transmission. My name is Templeton Peck. I’m a prisoner. I’ve been tortured. Please send help. Over.”

“Transmit your position.” Face groaned and dropped his head onto his arms.

“Transmit your position.” Face looked up, because the voice was different and it wasn’t only coming from the radio set any more. Face looked up to see Kyle standing in the door of the helicopter, a man beside him carrying a portable radio set. Kyle had just spoken into the handset. He smirked at Face, who stared back at him.

“Take him,” Kyle ordered. As a half dozen men piled into the aircraft, Kyle turned away and strode back to the house, ignoring Face’s cries of pain under an onslaught of blows.

~~~~

Kyle did a security check once all the men were secured again. He went right into the cells themselves, to double check everything.

All four prisoners were chained to the wall. Sevchenko had ordered it. He’d also ordered Kuprin and Sokoll to visit Hannibal and Murdock personally and now both men hung in their chains, battered and bloodied. BA and Face had already received similar treatment from Kyle’s men after being apprehended.

When checking Face Kyle noticed he was hanging onto the chains with his hands, trying to take as much weight off his feet as possible. Sweat ran down his arms and masked his face. Kyle stood watching him for a while. Face didn’t speak, stared back at Kyle through half closed eyes. He was shaking with effort and with pain and yet that wasn’t what filled his eyes. They were filled with hatred, glaring it at Kyle. Baracus had given Kyle the same look when Kyle checked him. Murdock and Hannibal were both semi-concious after the beating Kuprin and Sokoll had dished out. But even semi-concious their defiance was plain.

One escape attempt had failed, but Kyle was sure of one thing.

“They’ll try it again.”

Sevchenko sat in an armchair in the small dark sitting room. He had a glass of whisky in his hand, the first liquor Kyle had seen him drink. When Kyle had come to tell him it was safe to come out he’d almost run from the room. Then, pale and trembling, he spoke in Russian in a shaky voice to Kuprin and Sokoll, provoking a wolfish grin from the former and a grim smile from the latter.

“And it’s your job to stop them trying it again!” Sevchenko snapped at Kyle.

“You don’t understand these men,” Kyle said. He folded his arms, paced the small room. The bottles of Cristal champagne on the shelf caught his eye and he looked away. “They won’t stop trying. The longer they are alive the more chances they have. We were lucky tonight. But we have to be lucky every time. They only have to be lucky once.”

“Luck should not enter into it, if you and your men do your jobs properly.”

Well that was the problem though, wasn’t it, Kyle thought. The men he had were second rate. Third rate even. And that wasn’t down to money in the end. He’d tried to tell himself it was, tried to blame Sevchenko for penny pinching. But that wasn’t it. It was down to him. The fact was that first rate men didn’t want to work with Kyle any more. He’d been defeated, he’d gone to jail and been out of the game for years. He’d once been called the best mercenary money can buy. But that was a long time ago. Reputation. His was gone. He was a joke. This job was supposed to undo some of that damage and this damn Russian was going to ruin it. He was so wrapped up in his sick little games he couldn’t see what he was risking. If the A-Team escaped from him again Kyle might just as well retire. He’d be as big a joke as the army clowns that had chased them for years and let them escape over and over.

For the same reason he couldn’t simply walk away, like Anderson had done. Couldn’t let people think he didn’t see a job through. And what would he walk away to? He had no other jobs lined up. He was relying on this one to restore his reputation and get him more work. If he walked away now he’d be lucky if he got to spend the rest of his career collecting bounties. He’d be lucky if he had a career at all.

“Kill them now,” Kyle said. “I’ll do it for you. Then you can drink your champagne and we can all go home.”

“No!” Sevchenko stood up. “You don’t tell me what to do, you work for me. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re torturing them to death, that’s what you said. Well do it! Screw the waterboarding and the other games. Get on and do what you said you’re going to do.”

Sevchenko held Kyle’s glare for a moment, then he looked away.

“Perhaps you are right. I have been taking my time.” He smiled at Kyle, conciliatory. “I’ve waited for this for such a long time, planned it… But your security concerns are legitimate.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost two in the morning. “I’m going to bed now. I shall start work at ten tomorrow. I will start with Peck.”

He left. Kyle watched him go and then poured himself a whisky and lit a cigarette. He knocked the whisky back in one swallow. The undiluted spirit burned his throat.

_Just get me out of here. Let this be over and get me the hell out of this damned house._

~~~~

Hannibal thought about Albania. He had to think about something to take his mind off his own battered body and his fear for the others.

Albania. Pretty godforsaken place. He’d never been there – here – before, and had never wanted to. It was just emerging from decades of Communist rule. Especially isolationist and xenophobic that had been too.

What else? Most of the people were Muslim, though religious observance had been banned by the communists of course.

What else? Damn, his left leg was numb with cramp. He gritted his teeth and tried to move it gently. His shoulders and back were on fire.

Focus. Albania. What would he find if he got outside right now? Most of the country was mountainous, he remembered. He was willing to bet that’s where they were, and not at some nice little villa on the Mediterranean coast. Climate. Cold and wet in the mountains, even in summer.

What else? Bad roads. High rate of gun ownership. That last might help. Airports? Tirana had an international one. There must be other smaller ones. Military ones. Hannibal’s head was pounding. He couldn’t hold it up any longer and let it fall forward, chine resting on his his chest. Could he sleep in this position, in this much pain? He was tired enough for it.

Mother Teresa. A tiny bit of trivia popped up in his mind. Mother Teresa was Albanian. Great, colonel, that helps. Maybe she’ll storm the building and take out Kyle’s men with an M60.

Maybe someone would. They had to have been missed by now. Maybe someone was investigating their disappearance. Maybe they’d actually manage to track them down, maybe they’d come and get them out. That was a big stack of maybes. He didn’t dare to let himself get too hopeful about that. Don’t rely on help coming from outside, he ordered himself. Assume we’re on our own.

He started thinking about the attempted escape Kyle’s men had foiled. That had to be BA. Face surely couldn’t even walk yet. How far had BA got? Had he been smart enough to head out on his own or had be been running around trying to rescue the rest of them? Knowing BA, probably the latter.

Hannibal sighed. Getting out alone was smart, but Hannibal was sure none of the team would do it. None of them would leave his team mates behind, it just wasn’t possible. Except he’d done it himself, he remembered, with a twinge of guilt that was like the ache of an old war wound, or the first hint of approaching arthritis.

The last time Kyle had come after them, he’d taken BA to that doctor’s office, only to find one of their pursuers there. And he’d had to escape leaving BA behind. There’d been no choice. He was sick himself. Trying to get BA out would have slowed him down so much they’d both have been taken. Smart decision, keep himself free, first to get the help of Tawnia and Maggie and then to get his men out. A smart decision. But smart decisions didn’t always feel good though. Tasted bitter.

Could he make that decision here? If he got the opportunity would he get out alone and figure on coming back for the the others? And he knew he couldn’t answer that until he faced the decision for real.

Maggie. She’d come to help then. He’d never forget opening his eyes to see her face. He let his mind fill up with her as the cell grew dim around him. His arms and back were numb now, like the flesh was dead. He remembered Maggie’s hands touching that flesh. Her skilled surgeon’s hands and gentle woman’s touch. Was she missing him? Was she looking for him? Waiting anxiously by the phone? He drifted into the darkness thinking of her smile.


	16. Chapter 16

A taxi cab dropped off four men in the countryside outside Tirana, and left quickly. The night was clear and moonless. Flashlight beams stabbed out.

“That way,” Madari said pointing, after checking the map and compass. “Captain, take point. Sergeant, rear guard.”

Jahni moved ahead, took the lead and the rest of them followed the beam of his flashlight. Frankie stumbled several times over the rough ground. In a few minutes they saw the bobbing headlights of several vehicles moving over the bumpy terrain and coming to a halt. Frankie smiled, grimly.

“Looks like they’re on time anyway.”

“Good,” Madari said. “I might have been annoyed.”

Frankie’s party soon reached the rendezvous. Three vehicles stood there, headlights blazing. One was a battered Eastern European car, the other two were Land Rovers. They stood high off the ground, and to Frankie they were, right then, the most beautiful vehicles he’d ever seen.

Evans stood by one of the Land Rovers smoking a cigarette. Three other men stood around looking tough.

“Morning, lads,” Evans said in a friendly tone. “Wanna check the…” He smirked at Frankie. “The goods.”

Madari gave a small nod to Jahni and Hassan and the two went to the Land Rovers, opened the back doors to find cases inside, started inspecting them. Evans stayed where he was, checking off

“Two long wheel base Landies. Twelve H&K MP5SD. Six Browning Hi-Power and six Glock 19. Ammo. Four dozen stun grenades, four dozen frag grenades. Twelve walkie talkies. Radio set. Ten pairs night vision goggles. Combat medical kits. It’s all there.” He grinned. “What you planning, Sinbad? You lads gonna take over a nuclear power station?” Jahni and Hassan came back to stand with Frankie and Madari. They nodded to Madari.

“Well, all is in order, we can-” Madari began.

“Evans.” A voice came from beside the car. A short, bullet headed man stood there. “What if that’s what they are gonna do? This lot look bloody dodgy to me.” He had a Scottish accent.

“What the hell you talking about?” Evans demanded, impatient, glancing at him.

“We need to get on our way.” Madari tried to bring Evans’ attention back to him.

“You never said they were a bunch of Arabs,” the Scotsman said, frowning at Frankie’s group. “They could be terrorists.”

“So?” Evans snapped.

Frankie looked worriedly at Madari. He didn’t like the way this was going.

“I am not a terrorist,” Madari said, his voice still level, but with a hint that he was becoming annoyed.

“I’m not even an Arab,” Frankie pointed out.

“Me neither,” Hassan said.

“Mr Evans, this equipment has already been paid for,” Madari said. “Its intended purpose is not your business.” He glanced at the scowling Scotsman. “But since your colleague seems surprisingly squeamish let me assure you that it is not going to be used for any kind of terrorist activity.”

“Aye, well, you would say that,” the Scotsman muttered.

“Already been paid for,” Evans said, almost musing. “So we could just give it to you and leave. Or…” He smiled and drew his gun. His friends did the same at once. “We could drop you lot in a hole and sell the stuff to someone else. No-one’s ever gonna know the difference. Okay, lads, do-”

And he leapt back as a shot sounded from the darkness and the ground at his feet spat dirt and stone into the air. The same happened at the feet of the other men, even as they started to jump forward. They ran around panicked, looking for a safe position.

Frankie saw brief blurs of movement as Jahni and Hassan disappeared into the darkness. Then he gasped as Madari grabbed his arm and pulled him into cover, behind one of the Land Rovers. 

Frankie had known the plan, but even so his breath was taken by the speed with which the soldiers put it into action.

Evans crouched by the other Land Rovers one of his men by his side. The other two men ran behind their cars. A burst of swearing in a Scottish accent erupted from behind one car and was abruptly cut off.

“Okay!” Evans shouted. There was a muffled thud from behind a car. “Okay! Enough! We give up!”

Madari didn’t speak. He raised a hand and the gunfire from the darkness ceased instantly.

Evans stood up, hands in the air, his pistol hanging over his thumb by its trigger guard. The man beside him did the same. Madari and Frankie rose from behind the Land Rover.

“I am not a terrorist, Mr Evans, and I am not a fool either,” Madari said, cold as ice. “Now you and your men will put down your weapons then get into your car and leave. I don’t want to harm you.”

Evans looked around into the darkness. Frankie guessed that his imagination was seeing an army out there.

“I didn’t know you had more men, with you,” he admitted, grimacing. “Nice set up. All right. You win. You’re not gonna shoot us?”

“I give you my word.”

Evans tossed his gun to the ground and the other man did the same.

“Frankie,” Madari said. Frankie quickly ran and gathered up the dropped handguns. He handed one to the colonel.

“Thank you,” Madari said. Jahni and Hassan emerged from behind the vehicles, leading the other two men at gunpoint. The squeamish Scotsman looked as if his nose had had a short sharp encounter either with Jahni’s forehead or fist.

“Into the car, please,” Madari said. The men got in and Evans followed. The car drove off.

“Cheeky for delivery men,” an Australian voice said.

The men turned to see Bennett, Miller and Wallace had emerged from the dark and were standing together. Not just standing, Frankie thought, posing. Definitely posing. Bennett and Miller anyway.

The three women carried a motley assortment of ancient looking hunting rifles which had been obtained from various pawnbrokers around Tirana. A country where people were very poor and many of them owned guns meant that there were all sorts of interesting things to be found in hock.

Madari smiled at the three women, bowed his head to them. “Thank you, ladies.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Bennett and Miller chorused, with Wallace joining in a split second late. Frankie grinned, Madari just looked at them strangely.

“Um, yes. The doctor is waiting?”

“With our stuff and that bloody big shotgun,” Bennett confirmed.

“Then let’s get on the move. Karen, I know you can handle one of these.” He nodded at the Land Rovers.

“Yes, sir,” Bennett said, and hurried off to the driver’s side of one of them.

A moment later they were all aboard the two big vehicles and on their way. A mile along the road they met Maggie who was sitting in a hired car, with an enormous shotgun in her hands. They loaded their gear from the hired car and everyone got into the Land Rovers. Frankie smiled at Maggie as she settled down She looked worried so he reached out and took her hand.

“Not long now, Maggie. Not long now.”

~~~~

“Ah, good morning, Colonel,” Sevchenko said as Hannibal was dragged into the torture chamber. Sevchenko gave orders in Russian and Hannibal was strapped to the table.

Flashes came to him now. Memories. They’d strapped him on here before. And then… Then pain flashing through his head. His chest. Blackness… And he’d woken in his cell with bruises all over his chest. He shivered, then clamped down hard on any trembling. He had to be strong now.

Kyle came in and took up position by the door.

When Hannibal was secure the usual question came. “Which of your team should I torture today, John?”

“Me.”

“Murdock.” Sevchenko ordered Kyle. Kyle lifted his radio and spoke.

“No!” Hannibal cried, unable to stop himself, thinking of the beating Murdock had suffered yesterday, at least that Hannibal assumed he’d suffered, in punishment for the way the two of them had intimidated Sevchenko while they were all locked in here together.

“Yes, John?” Sevchenko asked, smiling, looking speculative. “One of the others? Is that what you wanted to say?”

Kyle hesitated, holding the radio but not speaking into it.

Hannibal felt sick. Was that what he wanted to say? One of the others first? No, he wouldn’t make that decision. Never. He put his head down.

“No.”

“Proceed,” Sevchenko said to Kyle, who got on the radio.

Sevchenko wandered over to the cupboard. “The cane, I think,” he said, taking it out of the rack. He held it in one hand and caressed it with the other. “I’m sure you recognise this, John.” Hannibal didn’t answer, his throat felt tight. “The Singapore cane. Fifteen millimetres in diameter. Just under one and a quarter meters long.” Sevchenko looked at Hannibal. “Yes, I think you and you men are all very familiar with this.” Hannibal still couldn’t speak. Sevchenko tapped the end of the cane against the metal cupboard door a few times. “I remember,” he said, smiling as if recounting a cherished memory. “I used a cane to excellent effect on your friend, Major Madari.”

“Colonel.” Hannibal’s voice returned. Hoarse and low. “He made Colonel.”

Sevchenko smiled, nodded. “So I’ve heard. Though I think I shall always think of him as ‘the major’.” His smile became malicious, mocking. “Just as I shall always think of him grovelling on his knees, naked and sobbing and begging me not to let the guards have him again.”

Hannibal’s fists clenched until his fingernails dug into his palm. Provocation. He wouldn’t give in to it. And he wouldn’t discuss his friend with the monster who had scarred the man’s body and mind for life. Sevchenko’s smile widened as he saw Hannibal’s fists ball.

“I’m sure your friendship and guidance have been a great help to him. A shame he will have to manage without them now.” He tapped the cane against the cupboard door again. “He was a most interesting subject. Such pride when he was first brought to me. And by the time he left me… none.”

“Yeah,” Hannibal said, looking at Sevchenko but flicking glances at Kyle too. “I’m sure you enjoyed it. Destroying a soldier, an officer. Someone with courage and honour. I’m sure you enjoyed tearing him apart, trying to make him as snivelling and scared as yourself.” He saw Kyle looking at Sevchenko with deep contempt.

That’s right, _Major_ Kyle, he thought. A soldier, like you and me, destroyed by this worm. You think on that.

“I am puzzled about something, Colonel,” Sevchenko said, not apparently noticing Kyle’s disgusted expression. “Why a man like you would remain friends with him?”

“What?” Hannibal could hear scuffling outside on the stairs. Murdock.

“An Arab, John. They don’t think like us, do they?”

Of all the things Sevchenko had said so far the word “us” was the one thing that sickened Hannibal the most. The idea that he could have anything in common with this creature made him nauseous.

“Their minds are distorted, by their foolish religion. Now I was never terribly doctrinaire about communism, but I do think it was, what’s your American expression? ‘Right on the money’ about religion.”

“So you don’t believe in heaven and hell, huh?” Hannibal asked.

“Of course not.”

Hannibal smiled. “Vassily, you have a really big surprise waiting for you.”

Murdock was dragged in. He was hooded. Sokoll and Kuprin, accompanied by several guards brought him into the room, and they rained blows on him constantly, on his already battered and bruised body, keeping him subdued, confused, scared. As he tried to flinch from one blow he would just move into another.

“Murdock! I’m here,” Hannibal called out at once. Had to let him know he wasn’t alone.

The guards threw Murdock against the white tiled wall and he fell down. He was dragged back to his feet, still being punched and yelled at. His wrist and ankles were secured in the steel chains and the hood pulled off. Blinking Murdock looked back over his shoulder. He saw Hannibal strapped to the table and flickered a tiny ghost of a smile that told Hannibal he was still hanging on. Only just, maybe, only just. But he wasn’t finished yet.

The guards left. Kuprin and Sokoll started having a whispered argument in Russian, which Hannibal guessed was about who got to go first with the cane. Sevchenko went up to Murdock, studied his naked back. Very faint scars were still visible there. Old scars. He ran the tips of his fingers across them and Murdock gasped and pulled away from the touch.

“So, Murdock, are you ready to tell me what HM stands for?”

“HM stands for truth, justice and the American way,” Murdock said. “What does Vassily stand for?”

“Why go on suffering, Murdock? It can end. Tell me what does HM stand for?”

“Herman Munster.”

Sevchenko frowned and then his frown deepened and he turned to Kyle, who had snorted.

“Something amusing, Mr Kyle?”

“That was a joke. His name isn’t Herman Munster, that’s a TV character.”

“Ah.” Sevchenko looked rather disappointed. Hannibal shook his head. Enough Murdock. Don’t let a dumb pop-culture reference get you killed. Just stay quiet.

Sevchenko waved a hand at Sokoll, who had apparently won the argument and now held the cane. He rolled his shoulder a few time, like an athlete warming up. God forbid he strains a muscle, Hannibal thought. Then he transferred the cane to his right hand and got into position behind Murdock.

The strokes left red marks at first and then they broke the skin in long red lines that burned into Hannibal’s vision. Blood started to run down Murdock’s back, down his legs. And he started to scream. He managed not to at first, Hannibal could see the tension in his muscles as he controlled the agony that each stroke caused. But it was too much pain even for a man as brave as Hannibal knew Murdock to be and he started to scream each time the cane landed. Sevchenko stood near to him, occasionally looking annoyed when blood splashed on his suit.

“The name,” Sevchenko said, over and over. “The name and the pain stops. The name.”

“I’m here, Murdock,” Hannibal called, not sure if Murdock could hear him. His head was hanging down now. “I’m with you.” Hannibal turned his head, not looking at Murdock any more. He looked right at Kyle as he continued to shout. Kyle met his gaze, with a frown. “You’re a soldier.” Hannibal called. “You’re stronger than him. Stay strong. I know you can do it. You can do what’s right.”

_You can do what’s right. Murdock. Kyle. Both of you._


	17. Chapter 17

Face collapsed to the floor when the guards released him from the wall chains. He couldn’t even break his fall with his hands. A night in the chains had left his arms numb and useless. The guards laughed at him then hauled him up. Internally Face raged at them, but kept the anger inside, fearing to provoke them while he was so physically helpless and unable even to shield himself from a blow.

They carried him down into the torture chamber and strapped him to the table. Hannibal stood chained to the wall, which was wet, as if it had just been hosed down. Face thought Hannibal looked as if he was ready to go crazy. Seeing his friends suffer like this must be driving him out of his mind. He tried to smile at Hannibal, tried to say something to reassure the colonel that he was okay, but his throat was too dry to speak, and a smile felt physically impossible. One side of his face was swollen from the beating last night. He’d been worrying for hours that his cheekbone was broken. As if that mattered now. His looks weren’t getting him out of this one.

The room felt crowded. All four Russians were there and Kyle was stationed by the door. Just need some cocktails and it’s a party, Face thought bitterly. He watched as Sevchenko and Markovic took objects out of the metal cupboard, saw glints of steel. Face gulped a couple of times.

Maybe I’ll pass out, he thought. Whatever they do maybe I’ll just black out right away and not have to feel it. He was battered, in pain, dehydrated; passing out couldn’t be that hard surely. Don’t fight it, he told himself. But he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to escape so easily. Sevchenko and Markovic loaded a metal tray and brought it across to the table on a small, high trolley.

“Uh, I already had my physical this year,” Face croaked out. Sevchenko spoke to Kuprin and Sokoll and they nodded, and checked the straps on Face’s ankles, tightened them so his feet were immobilised.

Oh, God, not the feet again, Face thought. He’d heard of men who had never walked again after having the soles of their feet beaten. Even if he escaped that fate there was a good chance they would give him pain the rest of his life. Every step like walking on knives. That’s my future, Face thought. From Special Forces to the little mermaid. Of course that’s if I even have a future long enough for me to get back up off my knees.

“Face.” Hannibal’s voice pulled Face away from staring at the Russians. Face locked his eyes on Hannibal as they prepared him. He could get through it again, like the last time, and like the camps.

Sokoll grabbed Face’s right foot, held it very tight. The pain from the previous beating all rushed back at once and Face cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and when he opened them again Kuprin was holding up a needle. He grinned, showed it to Face.

“No,” Face gasped. Oh god, no. Not that.

Sevchenko nodded and Kuprin bent over Face’s foot, held his toes and inserted the needle under the nail of the big toe. Face’s scream was ear-splitting. Hannibal yelled too, a wordless, useless, howl of protest. The pain was inconceivable. The needle stabbing into the delicate flesh sent agony shooting right through his body.

Sevchenko stood looking down at Face, his expression cold.

“What do you want?” Face gasped. “Tell me what you want, you bastard!”

“What makes you think I want anything from you?”

“You must want something!” Kuprin pushed the needle in a little further. Face didn’t think he could scream louder than he had a second ago, but he did.

“That’s what you believe isn’t it? That everyone wants something. Well you’re right, I do want something from you. One thing I know you can provide.” He nodded at Kuprin who picked up another needle.

For a moment Sevchenko moved away from Face, somewhere behind him. The room suddenly went black and then right over the table a strobe light started to flash. Noise came from speakers on the wall. Unspeakably evil noise, ten times worse, Face thought, than what they’d played into his cell while softening him up. It was like someone had opened up a channel right into hell itself and the suffering of the damned was being piped into the room.

“What?” Face cried. “What thing? Tell me!”

Sevchenko moved back into Face’s view. Face gasped and flinched away. Sevchenko had changed. Face knew now that he really was in hell, because the thing looking back at him wasn’t human any more.

The demon bent down over him. “I want your death, Face.” Its voice was the hiss of a snake. “Tell me when you are ready to give me what I want.” It smiled, teeth sharp and vicious. “And when you are ready I will give you a scalpel and let you open a vein.”

Kuprin shoved in the second needle. Face screamed.

~~~~

Murdock lay face down on his blanket that he had now named Mr Stinky. He was in the dark in his cell. His back was all kinds of agony and he was ready to go crazy trying to get through the pain. Am I ready he thought? Ready to lose it again and go back to the places that put me in the VA? Well, why not? Is there any chance we’re getting out of this one? BA had already tried an escape and been defeated. He’d likely been so badly beaten afterwards that he wouldn’t be able to make another attempt. Hannibal had told him Face had been put out of action by injuries to his feet. Which left Murdock and Hannibal to rescue the other two and escape.

Yeah, that was gonna work. The two of them. Both hurt. Against somewhere between a dozen and twenty men. Hannibal was the best escape artist since Houdini, but even Houdini would admit their current situation looked tricky. Murdock had given Hannibal the word ‘Albania’ and he was sure it had sent the colonel’s brain into a planning frenzy. But how much use was that really? The name of a country? Did it do anything but tell them the name of the land whose soil they’d be buried in?

Murdock shook himself mentally, trying to keep his thoughts on track. What about not rescuing the others? What about one of them getting out alone? Going for help. What would that mean to those left behind? Instant death is what it would mean.

Or maybe not, Murdock thought. Maybe Kyle had a backup. Some sort of Plan B. Another location where he could take his employer and his prisoners. Then whichever one of us got out would just have to find it. Yeah, piece of cake. There’s only the rest of the planet to check. Should only take forever.

Murdock groaned as a draught tickled the cuts on his back into new heights of agony. Who was he kidding? Even if he got out of this house he’d last about five minutes before he collapsed. He was dead meat. They all were. Murdock didn’t want to slide into despair like this, but resisting the pull of the dark feelings was hard. Being alone, that was the problem. That had been the problem last time. Away from the guys. No-one else he’d really felt he could trust. Then he’d slid all right. Slid real deep.

If they were together they could encourage each other, they could plan. But the only time he saw one of the others was Hannibal in the torture chamber, and while that helped him get through the sessions it didn’t help him afterwards, back in the dark, alone. He ached to see Face and BA. He missed them and he desperately wanted to know how they were doing. And he just wanted to see them again before… before this was over.

He missed his friends so much that it felt like his heart was being torn out. He missed the missions. His job flying. Oh god he missed the flying. He missed the crazy working hours and living on coffee, pizza and Twinkies for days at a time. He missed babysitting Frankie’s kids. He missed the long phone conversations he’d started to have with Kahil, talking about flying. Mostly about flying. He missed staying up all night watching movies. He just missed all the big and small bits of his life. The important ones and the trivial ones that sometimes felt so important. Important, to him anyway.

He missed his life. He mourned for it. Even if he came out of this alive then the man he’d been a month ago, the life he’d had then, that was gone. So he mourned.

~~~

The strobe instantly made Hannibal nauseous, he squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head away, burying his face against his arm. He wished to god he could block out the hellish noise from the speakers. But even that was a lullaby compared to Face’s screams in the middle of it. They were the worst thing he’d heard in his life. Not just of pain, they were screams of mindless terror.

“This takes me back, Colonel,” Sevchenko said, making Hannibal open his eyes. “Your friend Santana screamed before we even inserted the first needle under his fingernail.”

“Frankie was a civilian,” Hannibal snarled, feeling about ready to start foaming at the mouth. “A civilian. Forced onto missions with us by a spook bastard just like your pal Victor.” Hannibal’s glare suddenly fixed on Kyle. “A civilian!”

Hannibal’s mind flew back to the prison now. Over and over in his mind he replayed the moment he’d stopped Madari from shooting Sevchenko in the head. He’s barely known Madari then, but had already judged that he was a good man who would regret the killing later.

Now Hannibal would have sold his soul to go back and change that moment.

Let it happen.

Let Madari pull the trigger and splatter Sevchenko’s brains all over the wall. The image of it was grotesquely sweet to Hannibal. He saw it in pin sharp detail, heard and felt and smelt it. As clear as if it was a real memory and not a fantasy.

Maybe Madari would have regretted it later, but he’d have got over that. Or maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it at all. Maybe it would have helped him get over what this thing did to him. But I knew best of course, Hannibal thought, his mouth full of bitterness. Arrogant bastard that I am, I always think I know what’s best for everybody. It was his choice, I shouldn’t have interfered. I shouldn’t have stopped him. If I hadn’t then my friends wouldn’t be suffering. Face wouldn’t be screaming right now.

A noise, a different noise under the hell sounds make Hannibal look up. The door had just slammed closed. Kyle was no longer in the room.

~~~~

Kyle stumbled into the stone corridor outside the torture chamber. The two guards outside stopped lounging around and sprang to attention, tossing away the cigarettes they were smoking. Kyle took no notice of them. He staggered across to the opposite wall, supported himself with one hand and threw up.

There wasn’t much to come up. He was eating about as well as he was sleeping. Mostly it was coffee.

“You okay, boss?” one of the guards asked.

Damn stupid question, Kyle thought. He passed a shaking hand over his face, feeling the cold sweat. Had to sit. Staggered across to the stairs.

One of the guards grabbed Kyle’s arm to help him, lowered him to sit on a step.

“Christ, Kyle, you look sick as a dog.”

The door to the chamber opened. The horrific noise leaked out as Sevchenko emerged, then closed the door behind him. He came over to Kyle, scowling.

“Mr Kyle, what’s going on? You know I don’t like to interrupt a session.”

“It…” Kyle cleared his throat, tried to pull himself together. “It’s the strobe. I’m sensitive to them.”

“Ah. I see.” Sevchenko nodded in understanding. Kyle supposed he’d seen any number of reactions to the strobe light, right up to full on seizures. “I should have warned you, I am sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “You do look very green. Are you sure it’s just the strobe light? You didn’t look well earlier today.”

Like when your bastards were caning the skin off Captain Murdock’s back? Kyle thought. He’d probably looked pretty sick then.

Kyle stood up, shakily. “I’ll be okay,” he insisted.

“Well I think you should rest,” Sevchenko said. “I do hope you don’t have the flu. Why don’t you go and rest? The doctor can come and check on you later.”

There’s something to look forward to. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” Kyle said. He turned away from Sevchenko’s concerned face that was making him feel even sicker.

“One of you go with him,” Sevchenko ordered the guards. Kyle heard one of them follow him up the stairs.

He didn’t head for his room though. He went for the front door, emerged into the fresh air. Rain was lashing down, cold, refreshing. Kyle stood in it until he was soaked. The guard watched him from inside the door until Kyle finally turned around and came back inside.

~~~~

In the early afternoon the two Land Rovers moved slowly along the mountain roads. The rain that poured down made the already poor road surface slick and treacherous. Frankie sat in the back of the leading car, behind Bennett who was driving. She was leaning forward, eyes glued to the road. The heavy rain clouds darkened the sky and the headlights were needed to illuminated the road ahead. On one side of them was rock, cold and grey. On the other side the road fell away to a whole lot of nothing, a steep drop onto more sharp rock.

Wallace was in the passenger seat. Beside Frankie in the back Jahni sat snuggled in on himself, arms folded, dozing. Frankie was amazed that anyone could sleep on these awful roads, but the captain managed it somehow. His face was shaded by the peak of a dark red baseball cap with ‘Dishpan FX’ embroidered on it in white. Frankie had handed out the baseball caps as they started their journey.

“If people think you’re with a film company they’re be less suspicious of you being in the middle of nowhere,” he explained. “And you get away with being a very, um, mixed sort of group. Of nationalities I mean. And is doesn’t matter how strange you act, because everyone knows movie people are crazy.” He’d smiled after that last part and then been slightly annoyed that nobody had argued with that point.

So as far as any police or other officials who stopped them were concerned they were heading off to set up the effects for a big summer blockbuster. Mr Schwarzenegger would be flying in any day now, and the crates in the back were full of special effects equipment. Luckily they hadn’t had to try out the story on anyone so far.

Madari’s voice came through the CB radio.

“Watch your speed on this turn, Lieutenant.”

“Roger, sir.” Bennett clicked her tongue as she closed the connection. “I take one bend a little bit fast and he never lets me hear the end of it.”

Frankie saw Jahni’s eyes half open at the sound of his commander’s voice. He glanced across at Frankie, and closed his eyes again. He’s guarding me, Frankie thought. The colonel is guarding the doc in the other Landie, and he’s ordered Kahil to keep an eye on me. Frankie wished it was the other way around, because he still had work to do persuading Madari that he should let Frankie come up the mountain. They were close now. Another few hours and they’d be in the valley where the town nearest the mountain was. There they would split up, sending Maggie and Miller to the town. Frankie was determined he wouldn’t be joining them.

“Hey, Frankie,” Bennett said, after negotiating the tricky hairpin bend. “You worked with a lot of famous people then?”

Frankie shook himself out of his brooding. Bennett appeared to be hungry for someone to talk to. She was pretty friendly with Jahni, but he’d been sleeping most of the journey. Wallace seemed to be hard work, conversation wise and Bennett had eventually given up on trying to coax any girly chat out of the Marine.

“Sure,” Frankie said. “Not that I get near them usually. I mostly end up working with their stunt doubles.”

“Right. C’mon though, tell me some of the big stars you’ve met.”

“Nah, I don’t like to do that. The stars don’t like it when you name drop, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “Sean Connery told me that.” He grinned.

Bennett laughed out loud and Frankie saw Jahni smile with his eyes closed.

“Vehicle approaching,” Wallace said quietly.

“I see it,” Bennett said. Through the heavy rain the oncoming vehicle was a dark shape, with one headlight piercing the gloom. “Is it a motorbike?”

“Car with one headlight out,” Wallace said. She frowned. “Too fast and he wants the whole road.”

“I’m watching him,” Bennett said. “I can get past.”

And she would have, if the oncoming car hadn’t swerved suddenly, skidding on the waterlogged surface and sliding right into their path. Bennett hauled the wheel around, trying to get across the road, but the heavy Land Rover couldn’t move fast enough.

Frankie threw himself across the seat, on top of Jahni, trying to get away from the glass that flew from the shattering windows. Metal screamed and sparks flew as the two vehicles scraped along their nearside, before the Land Rover juddered and stalled and slid to a halt up against the wall of rock on the side of the road.


	18. Chapter 18

Hannibal was very happy to see that without Kyle around the guards were sloppy. After Face was taken away the Russians left, for lunch, Hannibal guessed. BA was brought in and strapped to the table. Most of the guards left, leaving two behind to watch the prisoners. One of them took out a pack of cigarettes offered one to his partner.

“Better smoke ’em outside,” the second man said. “That creepy doc looks at you real funny if he thinks you’ve been smoking anywhere he’s gotta work. He’s ‘sensitive’.” he said the last word in a mocking high tone.

“Hey, fellas,” Hannibal called. “How about a smoke for me? I don’t care about upsetting the doc.” The guards looked at each other, then the one with the pack came over, put a cigarette between Hannibal’s lips and held up the lighter. Hannibal puffed the cigarette to get it lit, resisting the urge to cough at his first smoke in god knows how many days.

“Thanks, pal.”

“If anyone asks you didn’t get it from me.”

“No problem. I traded it for a phone card and had it hidden up my ass.” The guard laughed. Yeah, we’ve all been to jail haven’t we? Hannibal thought. The guard turned away and to Hannibal’s total delight both the guards went outside. The door was left partly open, he could hear them talking in the passageway. He spat out the cigarette.

“BA,” Hannibal said, urgently. BA had been semi-conscious when they brought him in. He’d clearly taken a severe beating after his escape attempt. Now he lay on the table with his eyes closed. Hannibal hated to stop him from getting even a short rest, but he needed information.

“BA, wake up, look at me.” BA slowly lifted his head, his face contorted with pain. “C’mon, sergeant, open your eyes.” When BA’s eyes did open they were misty and unfocused. Hannibal just kept talking until the clouds lifted and BA was looking at him.

“Can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

“Yeah,” BA said, slowly. “Yeah. I hear ya, Colonel.”

“How far did you get?” Hannibal asked, his eyes darted continually at the door. He had to get this information fast. Their luck couldn’t last for long. “When you tried to escape.”

“Got outside,” BA said. “They got a chopper out there. A Huey.”

“What else is out there, could you see much of the surrounding terrain?”

“Was dark.” BA shook his head. “Could see some lights a ways off. I think we’re in mountains, felt like we’re high up.”

“Makes sense,” Hannibal said. “We’re in Albania, BA.”

BA didn’t answer for a moment. “Ain’t never been there before.”

“No. Tell me about your escape.”

BA nodded, frowned, trying to gather scattered thought. “Took Face with me, had to carry him, his feet…”

“I know.”

“Right. And he was kinda doped up. Once you’re out the cell block take a wide corridor ‘fore you get to the stairs down to the – down to here. Comes out… out to a landing, stairs down to an entrance hall. Big front door. Chopper’s outside there.”

His eyes were closed. Hannibal could see he was retracing his steps in his head. Hannibal kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt and confuse him with questions.

“Patrol, one man I think, patrolling round the house. One man guarding chopper. I put Face on the chopper, came back in to get you and Murdock, met Kuprin…” He opened his eyes, looked at Hannibal. “You’ve seen Murdock?”

“Yes, BA, I’ve seen him.”

“He okay?”

Well of course he wasn’t okay. But Hannibal knew it wasn’t Murdock’s physical health BA was asking after.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Hannibal said. “Did the patrol have a dog?”

BA frowned again, thinking. “No, no dog.”

“How long was Face on the chopper?”

“Don’t know. Till after I was caught I guess. Don’t know how much longer after though.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. Was dumb to try and come back in, I shoulda left on my own, gone for help. Sometimes I forget…ain’t a superhero like in the fool’s comic books.”

“Any of us would have done the same, Sergeant. We never leave a man behind.”

He was interrupted by voices outside the door. Kyle was back.

“I’m fine.” Hannibal heard him saying to the men outside, a touch too defensively.

In a second Kyle strode into the room. He looked pale and sick. He stopped, frowning, then he spun around to the two guards that had followed him in.

“They’re alone?”

“We was right outside the door,” one of the guards said.

“The orders are they are not to be left alone!” Kyle yelled. The two guards backed off a couple of steps.

“They couldn’t get away or anything.” The man who’d given Hannibal the cigarette said.

“Were they talking?” Kyle demanded. “Were they talking?” He repeated when he didn’t get an answer right away.

“I don’t know, what does it matter?” The guard asked, shrinking back further from Kyles rage.

“What does it…?” Kyle was red in the face now. His hands were clenched into fists. “Do you understand how dangerous these men are? Do you understand what a commando can do? Do you understand what Special Forces men are trained to do?”

“Yeah, but Christ, Kyle look at them, they’ll be dead in a couple of days anyway. Baracus can’t even stand up.”

“Oh so you think they’re helpless? Why don’t we lock you up in a cell with Baracus and see how helpless he is then?”

The guard looked alarmed and Hannibal couldn’t blame him. Right now Kyle looked nuts enough to do it. Hannibal smiled, trying to keep it inside and failing. Kyle was cracking. Now Hannibal just had to find the right lever to work open that crack a little more.

~~~~

The occupants of the second Land Rover jumped out into the pouring rain.

“Sergeant!” Madari, shouted at Hassan. “Check the other car!” Hassan nodded and turned to run to the other car that had come to rest against the cliff face at the side of the road.

The others ran to the crashed Land Rover. The two offside doors opened as they approached, Jahni emerging dragging Frankie out after him. Frankie fell onto his backside on the road but got back to his feet with Jahni’s help.

“Are you all right?” Madari asked them. The two men nodded, not quite ready to speak yet. Maggie started checking them over quickly. Miller ran on to the front seat and started helping Wallace pull Bennett out. Madari left Frankie and Jahni to Maggie and hurried on to the women. Bennett was on her feet and talking very fast.

“He swerved right into me. Bloody hell! Bloody hell! I couldn’t get out of the way.” Her voice was high with an edge of hysteria. Madari held her arms and bent down so he was head to head with her. She twisted around to try and look at the Land Rover.

“Karen. Karen, look at me.” Madari shook her slightly, trying to get her attention. She turned her wide eyes to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry. Oh god, did I total the Landie? What’s the damage?” She tried to turn again, but he held her still.

“Karen, calm down. It’s all right. Look at me, Karen.” She turned back to stare at him. “Take a deep breath. That’s it.” Miller put a hand on Bennett’s back and rubbed it gently. Bennett took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she regained control. When she opened them again she looked much steadier.

“Sorry, sir.” She gave a wan smile. “Bit shaken up there.”

“That’s all right. Are you hurt?”

She looked puzzled a moment as if she hadn’t thought of that yet and looked down at herself. She raised one arm as Madari let her go. Blood soaked the sleeve of her shirt.

“I think I caught some glass…” She went a bit pale.

Maggie was at her side in an instant, made her sit down on the passenger seat and started checking the wound. Madari ran a hand through his now soaked hair, looked at Frankie.

“I think we have to wait for the rain to stop before we go on. These roads are just too dangerous.” He sighed with frustration at the delay. But looked at the opposite side of the road that dropped away into nothingness. If Bennett had swerved the other way… he shivered to think of it. Delay was bad, but better than that drop.

Hassan approached them then. He had a man with him from the other car. The man was staggering a bit and only Hassan’s grip on his arm seemed to be keeping him from falling down.

“Is he hurt?” Madari asked.

“No,” Hassan said. “What he is is drunk. Very, very drunk.”

“Watch it, pal,” the man said, his voice slurred. “I’m not so drunk I can’t kick your ass.” Hassan didn’t look remotely intimidated.

“He’s also an American. He says his name’s Anderson.”

~~~~

Hannibal couldn’t hold his head up any longer. He was exhausted and dehydrated. He’d had no water since the early morning. He’d been chained to the wall for hours, his arms forced un-naturally up over his head. Pain like liquid fire burned all down his back and up his neck forcing his head forward onto his chest. He couldn’t look up at BA, couldn’t help him get through this.

And he was afraid to look. They were making sure BA couldn’t make another escape attempt. They were doing to him what they’d done to Face. Hannibal flinched at each cry BA gave as the pale soles of his feet were beaten, with the cane. Kuprin was the man wielding it and he wore a big smile as he did it.

“You know what I want,” Sevchenko said to BA. “Give me what I want and the pain ends. All the pain ends.”

Forever.

Hannibal forced his head up, despite the screaming pain in his neck. He had to watch, he had to suffer it, he owed BA that. He couldn’t speak, his throat dray and raw. His vision was dark, tunnelling, he only managed to hold his head up for a few seconds before it fell forward again. He was close to passing out. When someone appeared at his side, no more than a dark blur he whispered in a cracked voice.

“Water.” He had no expectation of receiving it, so when a trickle of cool water tumbled over his lips a moment later he almost choked on it with shock. But he controlled himself and gulped it down as fast as he could.

When he opened his eyes a moment later Kyle stood there, holding a cup. Kyle had stayed despite the frown Sevchenko had given him when returned, making Kyle go into another defensive recitation of just how fine he was now.

“You don’t get off that easy, Colonel,” Kyle growled. “You’re staying awake for the show.”

Hannibal ignored the tone gasped out, in all sincerity, “Thanks, Doug.”

Kyle scowled, not quite convincingly and tossed the cup into the sink, strode back to his post by the door. Sevchenko hadn’t even looked up from his work. He bent over BA talking quietly, the screams not even making him blink.

~~~~

Frankie’s party had used one Land Rover to pull the other back onto the road, done the same for Anderson’s car and now most of them swarmed around the two vehicles changing wheels, attempting what repairs they could. They had to use the spare wheels of both Land Rovers to replace the ones with shredded tires on the damaged one. The rain still poured down.

Maggie sat in the undamaged Land Rover with Anderson, watching him drink coffee and monitoring him for any sign he was actually hurt and not merely drunk. Miller sat with them, on guard duty, Maggie thought.

“You look like you’ve been on quite a bender, Mr Anderson,” Maggie said. The man had a couple of days growth of beard and his clothes were dirty. He didn’t exactly smell good either.

“Yeah.” Anderson sipped the hot coffee. “Well sometimes a man’s just gotta get drunk, right, ladies?” He drank more coffee. “Christ that’s good. Can’t get a proper cup of American coffee in this godawful country.”

“Do you work here?” Maggie asked. “We didn’t expect to ah, run into another American.”

“Been working. Quit the bastard job. Bastard job, bastard Kyle. Told him, stick your fucking job where the sun don’t fucking shine.” Maggie stared at him wide eyed. Anderson saw her expression and misunderstood it. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, ’bout the language, ladies.”

Miller leaned over, said, “Excuse me, you told who?”

“Kyle. My boss. Ex-boss. Told him where he could stick the job…” Maggie and Miller turned and stared at each other.

“Get the colonel, now!” Maggie snapped. Miller scrambled out of the car and ran.

“Colonel,” Anderson said, his voice still slurring. “Yeah they got him. The colonel and the rest of ’em. Poor bastards.”

“Hannibal…” Maggie said, quietly, terrified. “Is he… ?”

Anderson frowned at her. “How’d you know…?”

The doors opened and Madari and Frankie piled in, Madari in the back seat with Anderson, Frankie in the front. The others gathering around the open door, except Hassan who went around to guard the door on the side Anderson was sitting.

“He’s one of Kyle’s men?” Frankie asked Maggie, “Are you sure. Evie said…”

“He’s one of Kyle’s men,” Maggie said, firmly, very sure.

“You were working for Douglas Kyle?” Madari demanded of Anderson.

“Yeah… who the hell are you people?” Anderson started looking a lot more sober and quite alarmed.

“We are friends of the A-Team. They are alive?”

“Yeah, when I left a couple of days ago.” He shook his head. “Don’t know what kinda state they’re in now, with that bastard working on them.”

Madari’s face went hard with rage. “Kyle is…” He glanced at Maggie, didn’t finish.

“Not Kyle,” Anderson said, impatiently. “The Russian and his pals. Sick little bastard.”

“Russian?” Frankie asked, looking like he wasn’t keeping up with any of this.

“Sevchenko,” Anderson said, slurring the name. “Got some kind of personal grudge against them. Can’t just kill them though. No, has to have some fun with them first. Told you, sick… little..”

His voice trailed off as he looked at Frankie and Madari who were staring back at him in shock, eyes wide in pale faces.

“You, fellas, um...” Anderson’s voice was nervous. “You know this bastard then?”


	19. Chapter 19

After Sevchenko was done with BA, Hannibal was thrown back into his cell. He climbed onto his bunk, lay down and wrapped the blanket around himself.

God help me, he thought, god, make this end. He lay for a long time, the blanket pulled up over his head. Then very slowly, carefully he sat up.

Okay, Colonel, that’s the despair period over. Time for the constructive thought period. Ruthlessly he suppressed all thoughts about the sessions and thought about the information BA had given him. He had a much better idea of the layout of the house now, the patrols and the chopper outside.

A chopper. That had been a piece of very good news. It also meant that they needed to get the hell out of this while Murdock was still capable of flying it. And he doubted there’d be an alternative to the chopper, because the fact that Kyle’s people were using one meant that they were certainly somewhere inaccessible. The mountains, as BA has guessed. They couldn’t climb down a mountain in the condition they were in. They’d be dead within hours. No, the chopper was their only way out of here.

He sat for a while thinking about Face on the helicopter while BA had been trying to rescue him and Murdock. BA had said Face was doped up. Just how doped up? Hannibal wondered. Too doped to do the one thing Hannibal would have done, which was go straight for the radio? Of course, Kyle surely had a man monitoring radio comms in the area. But just because Kyle’s people could have overheard didn’t mean no-one else did. If Face had made a transmission anyone could have picked it up. Hannibal had a brief flight of fancy; Albanian commandos raiding the house, freeing them all, capturing Sevchenko, giving Hannibal a gun…

Okay, back to reality. Did the Albanians have commandos? Reality. Don’t expect help from outside, he commanded himself. We have to get ourselves out of this. I have to get us out of here.

He tensed then relaxed as a tray of food was shoved through the hatch. Stiffly he got off the bunk and picked up the tray. He forced himself to eat slowly despite his hunger.

The alternative to a breakout by force was a much riskier, much less certain strategy. Kyle was starting to crack, Hannibal could see. He hoped the way he’d worked on him had something to do with that. He would keep on working on it. But could he really expect it to work? Kyle was a tough bastard. He might not like Sevchenko much, but would he really turn on him? Could he really get that disgusted with the torture? He’d doubtless done the same things to men before, why should watching them being done to people he hated bother him? Yet clearly it was bothering him, Hannibal was sure about that. He suspected it was down not to the things that were happening, but to how long they were being done for. Hours, days, weeks. Was it weeks yet?

Kyle was a fast worker according to his reputation. The one he’d had before the team put him in jail. He got in and got the job done and pulled out fast. He hurt people, he killed people, but he did it quick. He didn’t toy with them sadistically for days. So this was something Kyle had never been through before. Hannibal smiled as he reached his conclusion. This was new to Kyle. It was new and he couldn’t deal with it.

It wasn’t new to Hannibal and he could deal with it. The question was, could he get Kyle to crack before Sevchenko killed them all?

~~~~

Frankie rested his head on one arm, leaning against the Land Rover. Rain soaked his hair, ran down his neck, got under his collar and down his back. He didn’t notice it.

Sevchenko. Christ. One day Frankie had spent in that man’s company, at his mercy. And he still woke sweating and sometimes screaming about it. His head spun just as it had then. They’d given him drugs that made everything spin and made him so dizzy he wanted to pass out just to get away from that feeling. And then the pain, the unbelievable pain as the needles were forced under his fingernails. He’d never felt pain like that before, never imagined it existed. It felt like he could die just from the pain.

That’s when the big adventure had truly ended. Being with the team, while he’d been blackmailed into it, and while it had sometimes been terrifying, had at first also been the most exhilarating, exciting time of his life. If he could get out of it alive he knew he’d have great stories to tell the rest of his life. Then things had started to change. They started to change that night at Villa Cuchina, when he’d seen Face almost die. So much blood… Up until then Hannibal had protected Frankie from most of the real horrors of their lives. He’d probably never imagined that Frankie would face one of those horrors in a pizza restaurant. And then the prison camp. And Sevchenko. And Hannibal couldn’t protect him then either.

Even though the fall out from that mission had meant the end of his time as an associate member of the A-Team, it had brought him closer to them all as friends. He wouldn’t compare his short experience with the months of torture they’d experienced in Vietnamese prison camps, and when Murdock had said something about Frankie understanding now what they’d gone through there he had protested. A day, it was trivial, ridiculous to compare to what they’d suffered. Murdock just told him that it wasn’t about the duration, it was the effect. If Frankie was still seeing Sevchenko’s face in his dreams in ten years time then he would understand that.

It wasn’t ten years yet, but Frankie was still seeing that face. He knew now he’d be seeing it the rest of his life.

“Frankie.” Frankie raised his head. Madari was beside him. The colonel put a hand on Frankie’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Frankie had had one day of Sevchenko. He knew Madari had been three weeks under the Russian’s control. He looked at Madari’s hand. The skin was quite dark, tanned deep by the desert sun, but the scar tissue around each fingernail was paler. And scar tissue on the nail beds themselves stopped the nails growing properly, making them thickened and distorted. Several of the nails showed blood red lines and blotches under them. Splinter haemorrhages Frankie knew they were called. One of Frankie’s fingernails, only one; the others had healed well; grew in a similar way. The twins called it “Daddy’s funny nail.” It still hurt. Every time he looked at it he remembered.

Frankie ran a hand over his rain soaked face. “I’m okay. Just a shock, hearing that name. Knowing he’s… he’s got the guys.”

“Yes.” Madari looked as shocked as Frankie. But he looked grimly determined too. “We must continue. The Land Rover and the car are repaired. Mr Anderson has given us a lot of useful information about the house and the security arrangements.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Frankie asked. He’d left the others questioning the mercenary. Needed to be alone to get himself under control.

“I’m letting him go. I don’t believe he’ll attempt to contact Kyle, he seems to hate the man. And we don’t have the manpower to hold him. I can’t spare anyone from the mission.”

“Yeah, the mission. Um, about that.”

“Yes,” Madari said flatly. Frankie frowned. It wasn’t “yes?” as a question.

“Uh, ‘yes’ what?”

“Yes. You’re on the mission. You’re coming up the mountain.”

~~~~

Miller drove the Land Rover into the town that nestled in the valley at the foot of the mountain. Maggie sat beside her and looked up at the forbidding mass of granite that their comrades were even now heading towards to begin the climb. Maggie was happy they weren’t climbing to the summit, which was shrouded in low cloud, but only part way up. To the grim house they’d seen on Willis’ slide show. She peered up the mountain, to see if she could see any sign of the house, any hint of its location, but could find none.

Madari had insisted they used what daylight was left today to make a start and estimated they would be in position to attack by nightfall the next day. Maggie hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard. A new urgency had filled both him and Frankie since they found out about Sevchenko. Maggie understood that, it filled her too, but still it worried her. When Frankie told her Madari had told him he could come up the mountain Maggie had taken the colonel aside.

“What’s really changed, Colonel? Did the mission, the attack become less dangerous because you know about who’s there waiting? Did Frankie suddenly become a commando?”

“Doctor, he deserves a chance to… to face this man.”

“Face him?” Maggie asked. “Or kill him?”

“That is… for Frankie to decide,” Madari answered with some hesitation. Maggie glanced over at Frankie, who was helping the others load the tools back into the Land Rovers, preparing to set out. If Frankie was planning on killing Sevchenko he would have competition, she suspected. Jahni had gone pale on hearing the name and then his face had set hard and cold and hadn’t changed since. He went into a huddle with Bennett, talking intently at her, while she nodded and occasionally flickered a glance at the colonel.

Plots and schemes, Maggie thought, with a sigh. She began to be glad she wasn’t going up the mountain.

“You okay, doctor?” Miller asked looking across at her.

“Yes, and stop calling me ‘doctor’. It’s Maggie.”

“Actually it’s ‘Professor’,” Miller said with a smile. Maggie sighed again.

“I don’t know if I can pull this off. I don’t know anything about geology.”

“Neither does anyone around here,” Miller said. Since they had left the others Miller had been coaching her on their cover story as a couple of geology researchers. Miller said her father was a geology professor, so she often used the knowledge she’d picked up from him as a cover while on CIA assignments.

“It’s a good cover,” Miller said, “because people assume that you actually work for an oil company and you’d be surprised how nice they are to you if they think you’re about to make them very rich.”

Maggie smiled. She could see that.

“If in doubt just talk about pyroclastic flows until their eyes glaze over. That always works.”

She parked the Land Rover outside a building made of the same grey stone that most of the town was made of. Its cheerless exterior was leavened only by brightly painted yellow doors.

“This is the hotel?” Maggie wasn’t impressed. She suspected it catered mostly to farmers in town for market days.

“Only one in the town. Come on, Professor, let’s see if we can get a room with a view of Mount Doom.”

~~~~

Kyle wasn’t sure what perverted notion sent him into the small sitting room to eat dinner with Sevchenko and Markovic that night. He normally ate with the men, in a big dining room near the kitchen. But tonight he felt unequal to the noise and raucous talk.

Five minutes in he knew he’d made a mistake. They were both horribly solicitous of him, enquiring about his health like a couple of maiden aunts. That’s exactly what they were like, he thought, the pair of them ate as daintily as women. The way Sevchenko sipped from a glass of white wine as he ate the bland chicken breast and vegetables made Kyle furious beyond all reason. He should leave blood stained fingermarks on the glass, but of course he had washed very carefully after finishing his work for the day.

Markovic drove him just as crazy. He didn’t even drink wine. Just water. You couldn’t drink the water locally without boiling it, but the Russians had their own supply of Perrier. A little touch of civilization Sevchenko had said.

Kyle wanted to strangle them both. He toyed with his food as they sat and spoke to each other in Russian. They’d tried to engage him in conversation earlier, but having Sevchenko translating and continually saying “the doctor says…” had irritated Kyle too much.

The doctor says. The doctor. Doctor. Like he was saying you can’t use his name. He’s better than you. So much better than me, huh? Kyle’s brain fizzed with resentment. I was an officer. I was a major. Major Kyle. Major.

Kyle passed a hand across his forehead. He felt dizzy again and there was no strobe light to blame. What the hell was wrong with him, he wondered, was he losing his mind?

Maybe he really was coming down with something, the flu, like Sevchenko had suggested. Yeah, that could be it. He realised the two Russians were looking at him, concerned. Stop it, he thought. Stop looking at me like that you pair of bastards. He looked over at the shelf, the bottles of Cristal. Still four bottles. He could reduce that by two right now if he grabbed them and smashed them over the heads of this pair. He looked back at them. Die, he thought. You’re eating, choke on something and die, both of you. Damn chicken breast, no bones.

Kyle stood up, pushing his chair back so hard it toppled over. He was pale and sweating. For a moment the Russians looked alarmed.

“I’m going to bed,” Kyle said. He was amazed at the way his voice shook. Sleep, he needed sleep, he’d barely slept, no wonder he was going nuts. He slid a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Markovic at once spoke to Sevchenko in Russian.

“Mr Kyle, the doctor advises that you don’t smoke in bed.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Kyle snapped. Don’t answer that.

_Burn the place down._

He strode out of the room and opened the pack of cigarettes. It was empty. No cigarettes. Well that just put the lid on it. Kyle searched all the drawers in his room, checked his luggage, the pockets of all his clothes. Nothing.

Fantastic. Without cigarettes he really was going to lose it.


	20. Chapter 20

Madari lit a cigar as he moved quietly away from the makeshift camp. They had walked until dusk fell and then a little longer until he had called a halt. The path wasn’t that steep yet, there was even still grass beneath their feet. But it would be insane to risk someone getting hurt by trying to continue in the dark.

He frowned, looking around. Wallace was on guard duty, she should be at this position…

“Sergeant?”

“Here, sir.”

Madari started as her voice came from his left and she appeared at his elbow. He stared at her.

“I couldn’t see you.”

“No, sir.”

“Um, good. You’re very, ah… stealthy, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right.” There was silence. Frankie had said she was ‘hard work’, Madari was beginning to see what he meant by that.

“I’ll take over now. Go and get some sleep.”

“Thank you, sir.” She melted into the darkness again. He watched, but couldn’t see any sign of movement as she presumably made her way back to camp. Remarkable.

He unslung his rifle from his back and got into position.

~~~~

Berry was actually working. Kyle, hoping to borrow a cigarette, tracked him down to the cells that currently held Murdock and Hannibal. I’ll have to move them around again tomorrow, Kyle decided. Been too long. Need to keep them confused. He was getting as careless as the men.

“Evening, guv,” Berry said, cheerfully. He looked Kyle up and down. “Thought you was on sick call.”

“I’m fine,” Kyle insisted. If he said it enough he might believe it. He glanced over sharply as he heard noises inside Murdock’s cell. He frowned. “Someone in there?”

“The big bastards.” A muffled cry came from the cell. Murdock.

“What are they doing?” Another beating, Kyle supposed.

Berry shrugged. “I think they’re fucking him.”

Kyle turned slowly to look at Berry. “They’re…” His voice was a croak. He cleared his throat. “And you just let them?”

Berry shrugged again. “They said they’re under orders from Mr S. You said we wasn’t to interfere with Mr S’s program.”

“No,” Kyle said. “No. That’s right.”

Berry frowned at Kyle, who was staring at the door of Murdock’s cell. “You okay? You’re looking…” He stopped as the cell door opened. Sokoll and Kuprin came out. Kuprin was laughing and zipping his fly. Sokoll was quieter and just nodded to the other men before hurrying off.

Kuprin took a cigarette packet from his pocket. “Got a light, Berry?” He asked. Berry flicked his lighter, held it up to the Russian’s cigarette. He let the flame lick just a little too close to Kuprin’s fingers making the Russian hiss and pull his hand back.

“Sorry, pal.” Berry’s eyes had a malicious gleam. Kuprin gave him a scowl. He took a drag on the cigarette then looked at Kyle. He nodded his head back at the cell door and grinned around the cigarette.

“You want a turn, Mr Kyle?”

Through a haze of red mist Kyle saw his own fist smash into Kuprin’s face. The Russian fell back against the wall, slid to his knees.

“Bloody hell, Kyle,” Berry said, astonished.

The two other guards helped Kuprin to his feet. The Russian spat out the cigarette filter he’d bitten off when Kyle’s fist connected with his jaw and made a lunge at Kyle, who dropped back a step, into a fighting stance. But Berry and the other guards grabbed the Russian and restrained him.

“All right, come on, that’s enough,” Berry said. He turned to Kuprin. “You just piss off out of it now, Ivan.”

Kuprin scowled fiercely. “I will complain to Mr Sevchenko.”

“Yeah, you do that. Off you go, pal.”

Kuprin looked around, assessing the men around him. He must have decided they would back up Kyle and not him, because he went off, muttering in a mix of Russian and English about how he was going to complain to Mr Sevchenko.

Berry turned back to Kyle. “What the bloody hell was that about, Doug?”

Kyle glared at him. “What do you do when a man calls you a fag?”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Berry said, frowning. “I think it’s just part of the job for him.”

“Yeah? Seems to enjoy it a bit too much for something that’s just part of the job.”

Berry nodded slowly. “True,” he said, looking in the direction Kuprin and earlier Sokoll had gone. “Yeah. Probably are a couple of muscle Marys.” He looked at Kyle. “Speaking of fags, you want one?” He chuckled as he offered his cigarette packet to Kyle.

Yeah, very funny, Kyle thought. Very bloody hilariously British. God save the bloody queen.

“No thanks.” He rubbed his sore knuckles. “I’d better check he’s still alive,” Kyle said, nodding at Murdock’s cell. He hurried to the door and went in before Berry could say anything else.

Murdock lay curled up on the floor, naked, turned away from Kyle. He had plenty of fresh red marks that would soon deepen to the colour of the existing bruises. His body had been shaking when Kyle first came in, but it froze. He didn’t even seem to be breathing as Kyle’s footsteps scuffed on the stone behind him. Kyle stood looking down at Murdock for a while. Murdock started breathing again, but didn’t move otherwise. Kyle walked around so he could see Murdock’s face. It was as freshly battered as his body. Murdock let Kyle see his face only briefly before he turned it away, into the floor, pillowed on one arm.

There was blood on the stone floor and on Murdock’s legs.

“Do you need the medic?” Kyle asked.

“Get lost.” Murdock’s voice was flat.

Kyle stood, watching Murdock for a while. He noticed how cold the cell was. “Don’t stay on the floor too long, you’ll freeze to death.”

“Yeah, ’cause that would be a tragedy.”

Kyle noticed the blanket, in a crumpled heap on the bunk. He picked it up. It smelled pretty bad. He dropped it beside Murdock, partly over him. Then he walked around the prone man and left the cell without a word.

“He still breathing?” Berry asked.

“Get him some soap and warm water, let him get cleaned up. And clean up the cell and get him a fresh blanket.”

“What?”

“You got sand in your ears, Berry? You heard me. And give him some food.”

“He’s had his dinner,” one of the other guards said.

“Then give him some supper!” Kyle snapped. “See if there’s any of that soup we had at lunch left over.”

“Hot food?” Berry stared as if he thought Kyle was crazy.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” Kyle asked, made his voice low and dangerous.

“No, sir,” Berry got as close to standing to attention as he could apparently still remember and started ordering around the other guards. Kyle turned and strode away.

And now he was truly convinced he was losing his mind.

~~~~

Hail, Jahni believed, was the worst form of weather in the world. Rock hard pieces of ice falling out of the sky was something he’d first experienced only recently in his life and, as far as he was concerned, it was entirely unacceptable. The wind shifted and a gust threw a fistful of hailstones directly into his face. He growled in annoyance and glared at the too slow signs of the dawn on the horizon. Then he froze, but after a second relaxed and gave a small smile. He didn’t move.

“You know,” he said, in Arabic. “If you want to sneak up on people, you’ll have to cut out the cigars.”

Madari came to stand beside him.

“That was a growl BA would be proud of,” Madari observed. Jahni smiled again, looked at Madari and thought at once that he looked tired. Jahni wondered if he’d slept at all.

“All quiet,” Jahni reported, still looking at him.

“Good. I’m going to wake the others soon. I want to set off at first light.” He glanced at Jahni, as the hail began to ease, became mere cold rain instead.

“You and Karen were having a rather intense conversation yesterday.”

Jahni stiffened, turned to look straight ahead and didn’t answer.

“Kahil, I don’t want you to do anything…” He paused. “I want you to stay focused on what we’re here for. Any other considerations are secondary, do you understand?” He was using his command voice.

“Yes, sir,” Jahni said. “I understand.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

“All right, good. Now, I’ve been thinking that we need to send in an advance party before the attack, for a reconnaissance sweep. We need to make sure that at least on the outside everything is the same as we’ve been told. And we especially need to know that we can secure the helicopter as planned.”

Jahni nodded. He agreed that the helicopter was a priority. “I could get inside the house, if you want,” he offered.

“Too risky, if you can’t get back out. Especially as we dare not break radio silence that close to the house.”

“Okay, I’ll do a sweep and report back.”

“You’ll take Wallace with you.”

Jahni frowned. “One of the women?”

“Stop thinking of her as a woman, Kahil. She’s a United States Marine. She may even be better than you.”

“I doubt that!” Jahni protested instantly.

Madari smiled at Jahni’s outraged expression, put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll just have to prove that to me. Tonight.”

~~~~

“Before I ask you the question, John, I think there’s some information you need. It might affect your decision.”

Hannibal scowled at Sevchenko, from his position strapped to the table.

“Whatever you say the answer is the same.”

“Really?” Sevchenko looked over at Kyle by the door. Hannibal followed his gaze. Kyle looked better this morning, as if he’d had a good night’s sleep. Hannibal didn’t like that.

“Perhaps you can tell him, Mr Kyle.” His voice was rather cold, Hannibal noticed, as if he was upset with Kyle about something. “Tell him about what Mr Kuprin and Mr Sokoll did to Murdock last night.” Kyle’s face twisted with barely controlled anger and contempt. Hannibal stared at him, holding his breath. Murdock. Oh god, was it too late, was he…

“They raped him,” Kyle said.

It was too late. Murdock wasn’t dead, but what had been done was something he’d never get over. Not again. I failed, Hannibal thought. I should have got us out of here days ago. I’ve waited for an opportunity that’s not going to come. But what the hell else could I do? There’s too many of them. They’re not too good at what they do, but even so they’ve left us with nothing to use to get past them.

“So, John, I think today I’ll offer you a different choice. You choose one of them and the other two will be spared, for today at least.”

Hannibal stared at him. And he felt sick, because he was tempted. Because he wanted Murdock to have a day off, after… that. But that meant choosing Face or BA to suffer today. Face or BA. Only one of them. Face or…

“Face,” Hannibal said, suddenly, snapped it. Sevchenko had started to turn away, no doubt to order Murdock to be brought down. He turned back, to stare at Hannibal.

“John?”

“You heard me.” He couldn’t say it again. Sevchenko smiled widely.

“Thank you, John. Thank you very much.” He turned to Kyle. “Have them bring down Peck.” Kyle gave the order over the radio.

“Perhaps you’d like to choose the method too?” Sevchenko asked, opening the cupboard. Hannibal just shook his head, unable to speak. Sevchenko took out the cane. “Have the rest of my people come down too,” he ordered Kyle. “I think it’s Mr Kuprin’s turn to use this today.”

Hannibal turned away, couldn’t look at the creature any longer. He looked at Kyle. Kyle was quite calmly relaying orders over the radio. He didn’t look back at Hannibal. Hannibal kept his eyes fixed on Kyle. Look at me, he thought. Come on, Kyle, look at me. He couldn’t start getting to Kyle again if Kyle wouldn’t even acknowledge Hannibal’s existence.

A few minutes later Face was brought in, carried between a couple of guards, still unable to put his feet on the floor. They pulled him across to the wall and started to chain him. Hannibal couldn’t waste any time now. He didn’t know how long Face would still be able to answer him once the beating started.

“Face,” Hannibal called, waited until Face looked back over his shoulder at Hannibal. His eyes were hazy with pain. “Face can you understand me? Just nod.”

“Be quiet,” Sevchenko ordered Hannibal. Hannibal ignored the order, watched Face closely. Face nodded. Hannibal took a breath, knew he was going to get hit for what he said next. That didn’t matter. He needed to know. It was the reason he’d made this choice.

“Face, did you get a message out on the chopper radio?” Hannibal held his breath, eyes fixed on Face.

Face nodded.

“Quiet!” Sevchenko yelled. He looked at Kyle, Hannibal assumed he was also expecting Kyle to run across and pound Hannibal into unconsciousness. But Kyle never moved. He didn’t seem remotely bothered by their attempt to share information. As if it didn’t matter any more.

“Mr Kyle!”

“We intercepted his transmission,” Kyle said, shrugged. “No one answered him.”

Hannibal gave a grim smile, practically a grimace. Just because Kyle’s people intercepted the transmission didn’t mean no-one else had picked it up. Suddenly outside help wasn’t a totally wild idea after all. Someone could be coming for them. If they were they’d better hurry.

Then the doctor and the thugs arrived. Kuprin picked up the cane and Face started to pay for the choice Hannibal had just made.


	21. Chapter 21

Kyle picked at his lunch. He was eating in the mess with the men again. He felt a lot better today, but even so his appetite hadn’t returned. He suspected it would only come back once this was over.

Well it would be over by tonight. He’d made the decision.

He looked around at the men. Three of them still showed the after effects of BA’s escape attempt. The rest looked pretty miserable. Kyle understood why, stuck in this place with no entertainment, no women.

“You fellas look like you could use some R ‘n’ R.”

They looked back at him, some of them with hopeful smiles. Yes, he didn’t think he’d have any shortage of volunteers. And the more of them he could get out of here without arousing suspicion the better.

Anything to make it easier to get this thing done.

~~~~

Frankie picked at his lunch, sitting with his back against a rock. The rain had stopped and they were making good progress. They would be in position as planned by nightfall. Frankie was starting to wonder if it was such a good idea for him to be here. He needed to be there when Sevchenko was… dealt with. But he just hoped to god he wouldn’t prove to be a liability. He noticed that Hassan who was sitting beside him didn’t seem to be enjoying his lunch very much either.

“Wanna trade?” Frankie offered. Hassan looked at him, shook his head. “You worrying about Evie?”

Hassan sighed. “I’m sure she’s fine. More worrying about afterwards.”

“The baby? Yeah. That’s a whole new level of worrying. All the worrying you ever did before is nothing compared to that. And fear. I mean I guess you know plenty about scary situations, but you’re about to learn about a whole new kind of fear.”

Hassan looked dismayed. “Really?”

“Yeah. Once you’re a dad you’re scared every single day. You’re scared something will happen to them, or someone will hurt them, or just that you won’t be good enough, strong enough, to protect them and give them everything they need.”

Hassan sighed and put down his food. “It sounds…” he shook his head. Didn’t finish.

“Sorry,” Frankie said, realising he hadn’t exactly been reassuring. “It’s great too. You find out about whole new kinds of happy you never knew about before.” Frankie briefly thought about getting out his pictures of Rosita and the kids, but he was too much of a movie buff to dare jinx himself that way when heading into a combat situation.

“Can I ask, um, does your wife work?”

I must be getting old Frankie thought. Suddenly younger guys are asking me for advice. I grew up. When did that happen? I guess when they first put Juan and Luis into my arms.

“Yeah, she does.” Frankie nodded. “As a make up artist. Effects not beauty. She’s off right now, but she went back to work after the twins, and she wants to go back again this time. Why?” He smiled. “You been trying to persuade Evie she should leave the CIA and stay home?”

Hassan grimaced. “She’s not going for it. I told her it was a Turkish thing and she didn’t buy that. Said it’s a me-being-a-great-big-jerk thing.”

“Is it?” Frankie asked.

“Probably,” Hassan admitted. “She’s said she’ll take a desk job, but that’s it. If I go on about it I think she’ll put me in some kind of Tai Kwon Do headlock till I submit.”

“Hey, I don’t need to hear about what you two get up to in the bedroom.” And Frankie grinned as Hassan laughed.

~~~~

Kyle sat on his bed. Slowly he loaded the clip for his handgun, enjoying the resistance under his thumb as he pushed each round into the clip. He slid the clip into the pistol, felt it click into place. He checked the chamber. One up the spout, ready. He put the pistol into his shoulder holster. A silencer lay on the bed beside him. He picked that up and put it in his pocket. The silencer would buy him some time.

And if anyone tried to stop him… Well he didn’t want to kill his own men, but if he had to he would. Because this ended tonight. It had gone on long enough. It was time for it to be over and there was only one way to make it end.

All of them. He had to get all of them and then it would be over.

~~~~

And now it was too late for Frankie to worry about whether he wanted to be here.

Because they _were_ here.

The group hid in cover only a couple of hundred yards from the house. Frankie was exhausted from the climb, but adrenaline was making up for that. His stomach was a great big sickening knot. He watched Jahni and Wallace check their weapons and blacken their faces with camouflage paint.

“Don’t engage unless you have no choice,” Madari ordered them, “Remember this is recon.” They both nodded.

Frankie guessed Jahni was itching to get into the fight, and knew who he was especially itching to get hold of. The rest of the squad were ready too, all clad in black, weapons ready. Frankie was as ready as he would ever be. He had no intention of going against his orders to stay close to the colonel. He’d be sticking as close as a band aid. The recon party moved out, vanishing into the dusk. Frankie took in a shaky breath and settled down to wait.

~~~~

“Better get moving before it gets fully dark.”

Kyle hurried the men outside. One of the pilots was already aboard the chopper. He started up the rotors. The noise shattered the peace of the twilight.

“Thanks, boss,” one of the guards said. “You should come with us, you look like you need a break.”

“Someone has to run things here.”

The men got aboard while Kyle stood in the doorway watching. Sevchenko didn’t know about this, so when he heard the chopper starting up he’d come racing down here. God knew what he’d make of Kyle sending half the guards away. He’d soon find out what it was all about.

Kyle watched the helicopter fly off into the gathering gloom. He turned back into the house and closed the door. Standing in the grand entrance hall he took his handgun from his shoulder holster and the silencer from his pocket. He screwed the silencer onto the pistol. This was going to end tonight. He would finish it. All of them had to die. Kyle started to climb the stairs, heading for the cells.

To kill the A-Team.

~~~~

Frankie’s team listened to the sound of the helicopter vanishing into the distance.

“What the hell do we do now?” Frankie demanded, “We need the chopper to get the guys off the mountain.”

“They must be going on a supply run,” Bennett said. “Damn, why now?”

“Colonel,” Hassan said. “Do we abort and wait for the chopper to return?”

“And wait how long?” Frankie asked. “Can you see them coming back before morning?”

“Colonel?” Bennett asked Madari who was looking out at the dark shape of the house, the roof just visible over the rocks they were sheltering behind.

“How many men got on the chopper, Sergeant?” Madari asked, causing the others to look up startled as Wallace walked silently back into camp.

“Eleven,” Wallace reported. “Captain Jahni is holding position, to watch for any more activity. He said he’ll wait twenty minutes then assume we’re aborting and come back.”

“Are we aborting?” Hassan asked.

“Eleven men gone makes the assault a much better prospect,” Bennett said. “The odds are a lot more even. And the chopper has to come back eventually. We can be ready and waiting to take it.”

“And if it doesn’t come back at all?” Frankie asked.

“If it doesn’t then there’s no point in waiting,” Madari said. “Bennett is right, the odds of our attack succeeding just became much more favourable. We cannot lose that opportunity. The transport problem can be solved later. I doubt the helicopter has gone very far anyway.” He smiled. “It is possible someone else will solve that problem for us. Ladies, gentlemen. This mission is not being aborted. We are going in.”

~~~~

At the top of the stairs Kyle ran into Berry. Kyle held the pistol out of sight behind his back.

“What the hell’s going on, Kyle?” Berry demanded, “Why'd you send half the men away? I’ve barely got enough lads to cover the place. We’ll all have to stay up all night!”

Kyle gripped his gun a little tighter.

“You’ll manage.”

“Yeah but…”

“Halve the number of guards on the cell blocks. They don’t need four any more.”

“But…”

Kyle wanted to shout at Berry to shut up. Shut up, dammit. Stop arguing. I don’t want to kill you.

“Just do it, Berry.” He’d wait a while, a short while until Berry took off the extra guards. Just a short time. Then he’d finish the job. Berry went off grumbling and Kyle waited at the top of the stairs. His hands started to sweat.

~~~~

Maggie sat on a chair by the window. The room grew dark around her. Miller was lying on one of the beds, one arm over her eyes, the other across her stomach. Her trim, flat stomach that was soon going to start to change. Miller seemed to be taking the news of her unexpected pregnancy well enough, the doctor thought. Maggie had seen some quite extreme reactions when she’d delivered that piece of news in the past, so she admired how calmly Miller was taking it. She suspected the agent had decided to wait and only think about it once this was all over.

Maggie gazed up at the mountain again. Somewhere up that Hannibal waited for her. She and Hannibal would never face what Miller and Hassan were about to deal with. She wondered what it would have been like. She had to smile as she imagined his face at hearing the words “I’m pregnant” coming from her. She’d never really been maternal, but if there was any man she would have been happy to say that to, it was John. She sighed. No sense thinking about that, it wasn’t going to happen now.

“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” Miller said, quietly. Maggie turned to see her looking across. “Colonel Smith seemed like pretty much the toughest man I ever met when I was working for him. If anyone can get through this, it’s him.”

Maggie nodded, hoped that Miller was right. Miller got off the bed and came to stand by Maggie also looking out at the mountain. She rubbed her hand unconsciously over her stomach, a worried expression on her face.

Maggie smiled at her, took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I’m sure Abid will be okay too,” Maggie said. Miller smiled down at her.

“Yeah, he’s got Becky to take care of him.” She grinned “So he’s… What’s that?” Miller interrupted herself, peering out into almost complete darkness now. In a second Maggie heard it too. They saw lights, coming down from the sky, some distance off, just outside the town. “It’s a helicopter,” Miller said. “Kyle’s helicopter by the sound of it.”

“Could it be over already?” Maggie asked, standing up. The helicopter had landed now. The sound of the rotor blades was gone.

“No way.” Miller shook her head emphatically. “Darkness barely fell. The colonel won’t attack until dark. And they would have called in.” She glanced over at the radio set on a table.

“Then the helicopter left before the attack? Why?”

“I don’t know. But I know one thing. The colonel needs that chopper.” She turned to look at Maggie, grim determination on her face. “We have to get it back up there for him.”

~~~~

Kyle gave Berry time to take half the guard off the cells. In fact he probably gave him longer than was needed. Give them time to get out of the way, get settled down. He had moved off the landing and was actually hiding, in an alcove. He saw Sevchenko go hurrying by at one point, looking annoyed. Looking for me, comrade? Kyle thought. You’ll know soon enough where I am. The darkness surrounding Kyle felt comfortable, like a bath of hot water. He felt he wanted to sink deep into it. Let it close over his head. Sounds were muffled, time passed slowly. He shook himself. Time. Time to stop wasting it. The decision was made.

He slipped out of the shadows and glided along the landing. In a moment he was close to the cells that he knew held Hannibal Smith and BA Baracus. Smith should be first, Kyle supposed. He was in charge after all. Kyle stepped into the corridor outside the cells and stopped, frowning. It was empty. Were they in with one of the prisoners? Had Berry misunderstood and pulled off all the guards?

Kyle went to the door of one of the cells. Smith should be in this one. He turned on the lights and opened the inspection hatch. He couldn’t see anyone inside. There were blind spots though, places a man could be out of view of the hatch. Kyle knew he should call for more guards before he opened the door, but since he intended to shoot dead any member of the A-Team be found in there, then there really wasn’t much point. He unlocked the cell and pushed open the door, entered cautiously, gun ready.

The cell was empty.

Instinctively Kyle reached for his radio, but then stopped. Smith was out. He was loose and probably armed. And Kyle knew exactly where he’d be heading. He had to be going after Sevchenko and probably the rest of the Russians. Kyle came out of the cell. He went to the other one. The lights in there were already on. Kyle slid open the observation hatch. This cell was occupied. BA sat against the wall directly opposite the door. The missing guards were in there too. One lay on the floor, unmoving and bound hand and foot. The other lay across BA’s legs and BA held a pistol to the back of the man’s neck. BA looked back at Kyle, defiant, challenging him to try something.

Smart, Kyle thought. Anyone goes in he shoots the hostage and starts shooting whoever is coming through the door. He’d be overwhelmed in the end of course, but you’d lose a hell of a lot of men to achieve it. Smith had been forced to leave BA behind, because his feet were too injured to allow him to walk. But he hadn’t been left helpless. Kyle nodded at BA and closed the hatch again. He looked at the gun in his hand. The silencer. He could probably manage to hit BA by shooting through the hatch. But with the Colonel loose Kyle’s plan’s started to change. He raised his radio to check with the men guarding the other cells.

And the house shook to the sound of an explosion.


	22. Chapter 22

Face was woken from an uneasy doze by the explosions. Hope surged in him. Someone was hitting the house. It had to be. Someone was coming for them. He sat on his bunk, wrapped in his blanket, in the dark. He waited.

Noise outside the cells now. Yelling. Then gunshots. Silence. Footsteps. My god, it was real, it was happening. It wasn’t a dream this time.

The observation hatch slid open, then keys rattled in the door. Face’s heart leapt into his mouth with a mix of fear and anticipation as the door opened. For a moment he saw a dark figure outlined against the light. Then the figure moved their hand to the light switch panel by the door and the too bright lights came on. Face blinked and raised his hand to shield his eyes.

Becky Wallace? My god, maybe this was a dream after all. Where else but in a dream would he be rescued by a tall, blonde female marine? No, it was real. If this was a dream she’d be wearing a bikini.

“Lieutenant.” Wallace came over to Face, looked into his eyes, then looked him up and down. Really, Becky, is this the time? Face thought, feeling slightly hysterical with relief. She’s just assessing your injuries, idiot, he told himself a second later.

“Sit tight, Lieutenant. We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Can you…” Face tried to keep his voice from shaking. “Can you get me some clothes.”

“Of course, in a…” She looked around at the sound of yelling and then someone shouted her name. She spun up and away, ran out of the cell.

~~~~

Murdock had heard the same explosions and yelling as Face. And despite his weakness he got to his feet. Ready, had to be ready. Had to be…

The lights came on, the observation hatch opened and Murdock heard an exclamation. The door opened, revealing Jahni. Murdock wanted to yell with delight. Jahni, dear god. They had to stop meeting like this, huts in Zaire, stone cells in Albania. Murdock wondered if Jahni had brought him a helicopter this time.

“Murdock!” Jahni slung his rifle on his back, ran to Murdock, who grabbed at him for support, almost falling down. Murdock’s knees shook. It was over over over.

“The others…” Murdock gasped.

“Face is just across the corridor. Wallace is with him. Murdock, sit down now, please, you look awful.”

“No, take me to Face.” Still leaning on Jahni he grabbed for his blanket. Wallace was here? Better be a bit less on the naked side then. He wrapped Mr Stinky around himself. They’d tried to take the blanket away, but Murdock had refused to give it up. Jahni helped him out of the cell, into the corridor. Two guards lay unmoving on the floor. Murdock didn’t know if they were alive or dead, didn’t much care. He staggered towards the other cell, leaning on Jahni. They had almost reached it when a tall figure hurtled into the corridor, and ran straight at the two men. Murdock recognised the attacker at once, cringed instinctively. Kuprin. Jahni let go of Murdock, pushed him away, and tried to pull out his handgun. He didn’t make it in time. Kuprin barrelled into him, knocking him down, the Russian on top.

Murdock almost fell when Jahni pushed him away, but he grabbed at the wall and kept his feet. He stared at the struggling men. Jahni had had the wind knocked out of him when Kuprin landed on him and the Russian, taller and heavier, was gaining the advantage over him. When Murdock saw Kuprin’s hands grab Jahni’s throat he sprang, or more realistically, staggered, into action. Grabbing Mr Stinky in both hands he flung the blanket over the Russian’s head, covering his face, pulled him back, pulling the cloth tight. Kuprin howled in fury, let go of Jahni to try and pull off the blanket.

Murdock remembered suddenly that they had an ally nearby. “Wallace!” She must already have been on her way, because he heard footsteps on the floor behind him a second later. Murdock threw himself to one side. Jahni punched and kicked Kuprin to get free of him, shoved him away.

Wallace snapped “protect the hostage” and Jahni threw himself across Murdock. Wallace’s rifle spat three times. Kuprin, still tying to get out of the blanket was slammed back on the floor. He twitched a couple of times and lay still. Panting, Jahni sat up. He looked at Murdock, who was in all kinds of new agony as his abused flesh was torn open by the wall and floor. He looked at Wallace… she was already gone, back into Face’s cell.

“Takes care of business doesn’t she?” Murdock said, also breathing heavily. Jahni looked back at him, then checked Kuprin.

“Dead?” Murdock asked.

“Very,” Jahni said. “Two in the chest, one in the head.” He looked impressed. “She couldn’t even see his head.” The Russian was still partly covered by Mr Stinky, who could now, Murdock thought, be renamed Mr Holey.

“Kahil,” Murdock said. “Please get me to Face.”

Jahni did and Murdock and Face just held onto each other for a long time. They barely spoke beyond a few meaningless and patently untrue repeats of “I’m okay.”

Wallace took up a guard position outside in the corridor. Jahni stood in the cell and fidgeted, standing back from Face and Murdock as they started to dress in clothes taken from the guards. Finally though he cracked. He went up to them, crouched down.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re… I’m sorry, but I need your help.” They looked at him curiously. “Sevchenko. Describe him to me. I can’t remember him from the prison, I barely saw him and I… I couldn’t ask Faris.”

Describe the creature that haunts your dreams, Murdock thought. Not easy to ask that, no. Murdock knew exactly why Jahni wanted the information.

“About five seven, balding, in his forties. Meek and mild looking.” He laughed suddenly, a frightening edge to it. Maybe he should describe Sevchenko’s back, because once Sevchenko saw Jahni then Sevchenko’s back is what Jahni would be seeing. Sevchenko didn’t know Jahni, so far as Murdock knew. But he had to guess that a heavily tooled up warrior with the psychotically pissed off expression Jahni currently wore was not about to bring him good news.

“Right.” Jahni straightened up. “I’ll leave Wallace here to guard you. I have to go.” Where he had to go and what he was planning to do was very clear to Murdock and Face.

“Good luck,” Face said.

“Be careful,” Murdock added.

Jahni nodded once, turned and left.

Wallace frowned as he passed. She apparently didn’t think this was a good idea. Murdock, on the other hand, thought that a trained killer with a score to settle going after Sevchenko was just about the best idea he’d heard in a long time.

~~~~

BA scowled as the hatch slid back again. The face he saw looking in at him was familiar. And impossible.

“BA!” Bennett called. “It’s me, Karen. Are you okay?”

How the heck could it be Bennett? It had to be some kind of trick.

“BA, there are no keys out here, I can’t let you out.”

BA knew this. He had the keys in the cell with him. They couldn’t be used to open the door from the inside though, he had to hand them to someone outside. This was a trick to make him let them in here. Pull yourself together, he told himself. A trick? What? Kyle sent men to Australia to find Lieutenant Bennett, kidnap her and a bring her to Albania, all to try and fool me into letting him into a cell he can get into anyway? Yeah, right.

“I got the key. Hang on.” He dumped the unconscious guard off his knees and crawled to the door, dragging his blanket with him. No need for the young Lieutenant to have to see him naked. While he did so he heard another impossible voice outside the door.

“The other cell is empty.”

Abid Hassan? Who else was out there?

BA knelt on his blanket and held up the keys. He could reach almost to the hatch. He banged the keys on the door.

“Grab the keys, Karen,” he called out. Darn officers, supposed to be smart. Of course she was expecting him to stand up. She didn’t know about his feet. Her hand reached through the hatch and grabbed the bunch of keys. BA scooted away from the door as he heard it being unlocked. It opened and Bennett came in. She was dressed all in black and toting an automatic rifle. Hassan appeared in the doorway and took up the guard.

Bennett stared at BA in shock, and her eyes widened even further when she saw his swollen and scabbed feet.

“My god, BA!” She hurried to him, knelt by him, raised her hand towards his face, then pulled back, as if afraid to hurt him by touching him. “We’ll get you help soon, You’re safe now, it’s all over. Face and Murdock are safe.” She tapped her radio earpiece to indicate how she knew that. “BA, do you know where Hannibal is? The other cell is empty.”

“Colonel got out,” BA said. “He’s gone after Sevchenko.”

~~~~

Sevchenko ran, through dark corridors. Markovic had been too afraid to leave their sitting room, fearing the house was full of hostiles. But Sevchenko knew they weren’t safe there. Only one place was remotely safe. If he could just get there, lock himself in, wait for Kyle’s men to regain control. Because they had to regain control. They had to. If they didn’t Sevchenko knew what his life was worth.

He hesitated at a junction. Left or right? Perhaps he should try to get out of the house, perhaps that was the safer option. And do what? Climb down the mountain himself? He wasn’t the outdoors type. And they’d come after him. They’d find him. A sound around the corner made him retreat into a dark alcove. He held his breath. Someone went past the end of the corridor, illuminated for a second in a patch of moonlight. Sevchenko didn’t recognise him, but could see he was an Arab. That couldn’t be good. His assignment in Qumar had been a busy time. Many men and women to deal with. And that meant many families and loved ones thirsty for vengeance.

He waited until it was quiet and ran again. Ran for the steps. Down. Down into the basement of the house. Down to the one place he felt safe. He made it, ran into the torture chamber and slammed the door. He didn’t even turn on the lights yet, first rammed home each of the bolts. Then he leant on the door, knees shaking. His face was wet with tears of panic he didn’t know he’d been shedding. At last he felt around for the light switch and turned on the lights.

“Hello, Sevchenko.”


	23. Chapter 23

Hannibal gasped and pressed himself flatter against the wall of the corridor when he heard the explosion. Sounded like a grenade, or six. From the back of the house. What the hell? Was someone coming in? Was this rescue? Okay, no time to stand around wondering about it. He had to secure Face and Murdock the way he had BA. And then put the second phase of the plan into effect.

Kill Sevchenko. After that he had no delusions about breaking out by force with three injured men. He believed once the boss was dead that he could negotiate a truce with Kyle.

Someone was coming, he could hear them around the corner. Not running. Kyle’s men would be running. Hannibal found one of the deep wall niches and concealed himself in the pool of darkness. He waited and in a moment two dark clad figures moved past the open end of the niche. Their eyes were covered with night vision goggles. A voice sounded, started to fade as the men moved on. Ridiculous, impossible voice. Someone who couldn’t possibly be here.

“… must have all gone to the back, like you planned. Think we can…”

Frankie? Hannibal wondered if he could be hallucinating. Moving slowly not entirely by choice, Hannibal came out of his hideaway. The two black-clad men were moving off down the corridor, close to the wall. One moved with trained stealth and professional economy of movement. The man following was clearly nothing like as used to doing this. Both men carried short barrelled automatic rifles. Hannibal smiled. He wasn’t hallucinating. He recognised both men, as much from the way they moved as what they looked like.

“Really should check the alcoves, guys.” The men spun around, weapons ready. Hannibal almost regretted speaking as he had a moment’s fear that Frankie would shoot him out of sheer surprise. But Madari checked his own rifle and pushed down the barrel of Frankie’s.

“Johnny!” Frankie said, a little too loud, cringed at the sound of his own voice. The two of them ran to Hannibal. “Johnny, you’re alive!” They pulled off their goggles. To Hannibal at that moment they were definitely the handsomest couple of guys he’d ever seen. He grinned.

“Just about.” Hannibal said. He looked at Madari. “Nice to see you, Faris. Now what the hell are you doing bringing Frankie here?”

~~~~

“I can’t believe you would bring Frankie in on this,” Hannibal said to Madari as they moved on down the corridor. According to Anderson’s information there was a sitting room at the end of it where the Russians hung out. Sevchenko and Markovic anyway. One place to start looking. “You once got very sanctimonious with me about putting civilians in combat.”

“I didn’t bring Frankie. He brought me.”

Frankie grinned when Hannibal turned to look at him. “He’s right, Johnny. This is my party.”

Hannibal just shook his head. There was a long story behind all this, that he hoped they would all get a chance to sit around and talk over later.

“How did you get out of your cell?” Madari asked.

“Oh that was…” Hannibal stopped as the door they were sneaking up on opened. A man came out. “The doctor,” Hannibal snapped at the other two. “Grab him!” They ran. The doctor cried out and ran back into the room. Frankie got to the door first, hit it hard with his shoulder and yelled with pain. But the door opened and Frankie fell into the room. Markovic had been leaning on the door on the other side, and was thrown to the floor. Hannibal and Madari piled in after Frankie. Madari’s foot on the doctor’s chest and the rifle trained on him stopped Markovic getting back up. He stared up in terror at his captors.

“Sevchenko. Where is he?” Hannibal demanded. The doctor answered, in Russian, babbling and scared.

“Either of you speak any Russian?” Hannibal asked. Frankie shook his head.

“Only certain words,” Madari said, grim faced. Yeah, Hannibal thought. Words like “pliers” probably. “Try French.”

“Ou est Sevchenko?” Hannibal demanded. He thought the man understood.

“La chambre! La chambre dans le sous-sol ” Markovic replied. The chamber in the basement, thought Hannibal. Of course, where else would that bastard feel safe? Hannibal straightened up his aching back. As he stretched he noticed three bottles of champagne on a shelf. God, these bastards knew how to live well.

“Tie that thing up,” Hannibal ordered Frankie. “And lets go get the bastard.”

“Right… wait a moment.” Madari put a hand to his ear listening to his radio. Frankie paused in his task of tying up the unresisting Markovic.

“Face and Murdock are secured. And… yes, BA too. They’re under guard now.” He smiled at Hannibal. Hannibal nodded, not showing the gush of relief that rushed though him.

“Okay, come on, let’s find that bastard.” He gripped his handgun looked at the two of them. “Once he’s taken out we’ve won.”

Frankie gulped, looked suddenly worried.

“We’re just going to, um, shoot him? I mean I want him dead but…”

He couldn’t say it. He wanted Sevchenko dead, but he was scared of it too, Hannibal could see. Maybe he was scared that the nightmares wouldn’t stop even after that. Hannibal could have told him they didn’t. Hannibal still dreamt of the faces of Vietnamese men who’d tortured him. Men he had personally… executed after being liberated. The faces never died.

“Let’s go,” Hannibal said. Which wasn’t an answer to Frankie’s question. Or maybe it was.

~~~~

Jahni literally ran into Bennett coming around a corner. They grabbed at each other to keep from falling. She stared at him wide-eyed. She’d heard him coming half a corridor away. He was as stealthy as a drunken bull.

“Karen, have you seen him?”

“Who?”

“You know who!”

“Kahil, I don’t know if I can…”

“Karen, you promised me! You promised you’d help me!” He held her arms, looked into her face, his stare so intense it frightened her. “We swore it. For the colonel. We swore.”

“Swore what?” Hannibal’s voice startled them and their reaction made him and Madari frown as they approached. “You two paying attention?” Hannibal demanded.

“Captain, we still need to secure this house,” Madari snapped. “I told you, everything else is secondary.”

“It is not secondary!” Jahni shouted. “I’m going after him! He’s not to be taken alive. I swore it. Honour demands-”

“Would you shame us both by disobeying my orders?” Madari interrupted him, using the command voice.

Jahni stared at him. “I’m doing this for you! And for you.” He looked at Hannibal and then Frankie. “For all of you.” He turned and ran.

“Great! Hell of a time to throw a wobbly!” Bennett said and set off after him. And Hannibal, Frankie and Madari ran after them both.

~~~~

“I knew they had to come here,” Miller said, watching as a group of rough looking men milled around the lobby of the hotel, talking too loudly, laughing raucously. She and Maggie were watching from the landing, keeping back from the rail, out of sight of the men.

“It is the only hotel in town,” Maggie said. “That wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Miller shrugged. “They could have gone to a bar first.”

“No. They’ve got beer up in the house. What they don’t have are women. They’ll get a room and send out for a couple of girls.”

Miller nodded. “Right. But I’ll bet they’ll send for some beer too.” The men started to come up the stairs and the two women retreated back towards their room. “And that’s where we-" A chambermaid came out of one of the rooms. "Analysis of the rock formations will indicate rapid sedimentation during the Triassic period.”

The chambermaid walked past them. Maggie nodded in a professorial way. “And of course the later evidence of pyroclastic flows indicates extensive seismic events." The maid was gone around the corner. "That’s where we what?”

“Where we get them.” They reached their room and went inside.

“What the hell are pyroclastic flows anyway?” Maggie asked.

“Big trouble,” Miller said. “Now, speaking of trouble, Doctor, do you have anything in your bag that can incapacitate those guys? Something we can slip into their beer or food, that they wont taste?”

Maggie stared at her, rather shocked.

“You want me to poison them?”

“Well not fatally of course. Just enough to put them down for a few hours. But that’s also reversible with some kind of antidote, because we need the pilot right back on his feet.”

Maggie stared for a while longer. Miller was such a harmless looking person, quite small and almost delicate in appearance. Her big eyes and pretty dark face would induce most men and plenty of women to feel protective of her. In her cotton shirt, jeans and sneakers she looked young and convincingly grad student-like.

“Damn. You really are CIA.”

“If I’m not they shouldn’t keep letting me in the building.” She picked up her handgun and checked the clip. “Get me what you think will work.” She sat on the bed, put on a shoulder holster, and holstered her pistol, then slipped on a jacket to cover it. “There’s a woman in the kitchen who speaks Italian, I was talking to her yesterday. I think with the application of a few hundred lek she can be persuaded to let me have first crack at whatever they order from room service.”

Maggie got her doctor’s bag. Could she really do this? Deliberately poison men? It was all very well to say “not fatally” but people could have unexpected reactions even to fairly innocuous drugs. But what else could they do? Just the two of them, even armed, couldn’t take on what looked like nearly a dozen armed men. They needed this advantage.

She rummaged in her bag. “Nothing that will knock them unconscious too fast,” Miller said. “We need to be able to ask at least one of them which is the pilot. I doubt he’ll have a handy little ID badge on.”

“Right,” Maggie took a bottle out of the bag. Perfect. The effect would be almost identical to the drug Kyle had used on the team all those years ago, which would at least be a nice turnaround. She remembered as if it was yesterday coming into that motel room with Tawnia to find Hannibal lying on the floor, unconscious. Her fear had been like a cold hand gripping her heart before they had heaved him up onto the bed and she’d gone into doctor mode. For that moment of terror these guys were going to pay.

“Here.” She handed the bottle to Miller. “It will take about an hour to take full effect after ingestion in food or drink.”

“Great. There’s an antidote? Fast acting?”

Maggie held up another bottle.

“Okay, sit tight, doc. I’ll be back.” Miller left the room.

~~~~

Sevchenko spun around to see Kyle leaning against the wall of the torture chamber.

“Oh, Mr Kyle!”

“I knew you’d come here.”

“Yes. It’s the only safe place.” Sevchenko nodded at Kyle’s radio, clipped to his belt. Voices, shouting and conveying orders came out of it. “Are… are your men regaining control?” Kyle unclipped the radio. He looked at it and shrugged. Then he tossed it aside. It hit the titled floor and smashed. The voices stopped.

“Mr Kyle, what are you…?” Sevchenko started to back up, staring. “You… you have to keep me safe. That’s your job.” Then he saw the bottle. The bottle of Cristal standing on the table.

“My job?” Kyle said. He looked very thoughtful for a moment, then he smiled and took out his gun.

“I resign.”

Sevchenko screamed and turned, grabbing at the door, trying to pull open the bolts. Kyle fired. Just once. The Russian’s body slammed against the door. He was still for a moment, then slid to one side. His hand dragged over the panel of switches and the lights above Kyle went out, replaced a second later by the strobe. The hell sounds came out of the speakers. Sevchenko hit the floor in a series of flashes.

Kyle walked to the table and picked up the champagne bottle. He tore off the foil, undid the wire and popped the cork. Foam poured out. Stop motion-like in the flashing light Kyle lifted the bottle as if in a toast.

“Cheers.”


	24. Chapter 24

Kyle unlocked the door, turned off the strobe and the speakers, switched on the lights and he was sitting on the table drinking the champagne when Jahni burst in. Kyle didn’t protest when he was dragged off the table and thrown to the floor face down. He protested a bit when Jahni’s foot pressed against the back of his neck.

“Quiet!” Jahni snapped, pressed harder.

Bennett arrived a moment later, followed by Hannibal, Madari and Frankie, all out of breath. Bennett glanced around and went to the crumpled body on the floor, turned it over.

“Let him… up a bit, Captain,” Hannibal ordered, panting and holding his side as a stitch stabbed pain into him. “Let him speak.” Jahni stepped back, keeping his handgun trained squarely on Kyle’s head. Kyle sat up coughing, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You killed him?” Hannibal asked. He indicated Sevchenko. Madari and Frankie were staring at the body, transfixed. Hannibal suspected Madari’s distraction was the only reason Jahni wasn’t getting yelled at in Arabic right now. He had to fight his own instinct to go and kick the body a few times. Someone needed to keep a cool head around here. Focus, he told himself. “Why, Kyle?”

Kyle shrugged. “Needed killing.”

Hannibal waited for a second, but he wasn’t getting any more. He wondered if his pride was waiting for Kyle to say Hannibal’s persuasion had worked. He dismissed that.

“Okay, Kyle, call your men, tell them to stand down, or else… well Kahil here came a long way to kill someone and you beat him to it. I don’t think he’s happy about that and if I let him he’ll take that unhappiness out on you.”

“Give me a radio.” Kyle said. Hannibal handed him the one he’d taken from a guard when he escaped his cell.

“Captain, if he says anything other than a stand down order shoot him in the head.”

“Yes, sir.” Jahni cocked his pistol.

Kyle shrugged. He didn’t look very scared, but he spoke into his radio.

“This is Kyle, stand down. Everybody. Stand down.”

A British accented voice came over the air.

“What the hell? Say again.”

“Stand down. You won’t be hurt.” He looked up questioningly at Hannibal, who nodded. “If you see any of the Russians grab them. If they resist shoot them.” Hannibal liked that extra flourish at the end. He approved thoroughly and hoped the Russians did resist.

“Bennett,” Hannibal said. “Convey to the rest of the squad, Kyle’s men are not to be harmed if they surrender.”

“Yes, sir. Um, sir, I don’t want to rain on anybody’s parade, but this man isn’t dead.”

“What?” Hannibal cried, then turned back to Jahni and Kyle. “Stay there, Captain, I mean it!” Agonised Jahni held position, covering Kyle. Hannibal saw Frankie clutch at Madari’s arm for support.

“He’s got a pulse,” Bennett said as Hannibal came over. He looked down at Sevchenko, who lay on his back in a pool of blood. His eyes were closed. Bennett had her hand on his neck.

“Christ, Doug, you didn’t finish him?” Hannibal sneered. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Kyle was staring. Hannibal looked at Madari and Frankie.

“Do either of you…?” He couldn’t finish.

“Bennett,” Madari said. “Do you think if there was a doctor here they could save him?”

Bennett frowned. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding confused. But he wasn’t really talking to her.

“What a terrible thing then that we didn’t bring the doctor up here with us,” Madari went on.

“Yeah,” Frankie said, his voice shaky. “She said if anyone dies that she could have saved then you’re responsible.”

“I think I can live with that responsibility.”

“Yeah,” Frankie said again. Hannibal frowned at them, puzzled, but now wasn’t the time to ask what they were talking about. The three men stood looking down. Blood spread slowly across the tiles, touched the soles of their shoes.

Bennett looked up at the men. None of them could even see her. They had eyes only for Sevchenko. A moment later she spoke.

“Heart’s stopped.” She took her hand away from his neck. She recognised the moment of death, they all did. The tension leaving the body, the slackening of the features. “It’s over.”

Frankie moved first, let go of Madari and went to Hannibal. He almost stumbled, his legs trembling. Hannibal caught his arms, kept him steady.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay now, thanks, Johnny.” He took a deep breath, then pulled himself straight. “Oh boy.”

“Is this really your party?” Hannibal asked.

Frankie nodded. “Yeah. I mean I couldn’t have done it without the guys.” He waved a hand at Madari who had gone over to Jahni. Madari looked shaken, one hand over his face and the other on Jahni’s shoulder. Jahni spoke quietly to him. “And the girls,” Frankie smiled, looking at Bennett who was talking into her radio and had taken over from Jahni keeping Kyle covered. “All of them, I can’t really do all that military stuff. But I guess I kind of organised things.”

Hannibal clasped Frankie’s shoulder, smiled grimly.

“Nice, Frankie. Nice.”

Frankie’s smile wasn’t grim, it was joyful. And it switched off when Hannibal suddenly frowned as something he’d heard earlier clicked into place.

“She? Doctor? You’d better not be telling me Maggie is here…”

~~~~

Maggie and Miller stood outside the door of the hotel room they knew Kyle’s men were occupying. If the groans they could hear coming through the door where any indication the drug had now taken full effect.

“Ready, doc?”

Maggie nodded, nervously.

“Just follow my lead. And try to look, you know… evil. Okay, knock.” She moved back so she wasn’t visible to anyone opening the door.

Maggie knocked on the door. She had to do so twice more before a man opened the door , He was sweating, almost doubled up, an arm wrapped tight around his abdomen. Maggie put on her best vaguely Eastern European accent and spoke.

“Doctor.” She held up her doctor’s bag pointed at it.

“Oh, thank god!” He opened the door all the way. “I think we got food poisoning, doc. I should go down to that rat hole of a kitchen, and shoot the bastard cook.”

Maggie went into the room and heard Miller move in fast behind her. Maggie kicked the door closed and drew a pistol from her pocket. Miller was already pointing hers at the astonished men lying around the large room, on the beds and the floor. They all looked terrible, pale, sweating and clearly in agony. A couple of them tried to pull their guns.

“Weapons on the ground!” Miller ordered. “Do it now, or I start putting you out of your misery one by one. Come on!” It seemed none of them wanted to be cured of his pain permanently. They all threw their guns at Miller’s feet. “Okay, fellas. Here’s the story. You’ve been poisoned. You’re all going to die.”

Maggie knew the men probably felt bad enough for that to be convincing. She scowled fiercely at them, trying to look evil as instructed.

“But, there is an antidote,” Miller went on. “And the doc here will give it to you. _After_ you hand over the pilot.” Glances passed between the men. “Come on, you guys don’t have long before your guts start to liquefy. Which of you is the pilot?”

Several men pointed at one who glared around at his supposed comrades.

“Okay, you, over here.” The pilot tried and failed to get to his feet. He crawled over instead.

“All right, doctor, give them the cure.”

Maggie took two bottles of pills from her bag. She rattled one.

“You take these ones now. One each, no more.” She tossed the bottle on a bed, the man on the bed grabbed at it. Maggie rattled the other bottle. “These ones you take in three hours. No less than three hours. No more.” The men were rapt, hanging on her instructions. It was all she could do to keep from giggling at the nonsense she was spouting. “And drink plenty of water. But only after you take the second ones. Don’t drink anything before then.” She threw in another fierce scowl. “Unless you like the idea of blood coming out of your eyes.” She tossed the second bottle into the middle of the room.

While Maggie had been giving them the phony instructions Miller had been collecting up the men’s weapons, dropping them into Maggie’s bag. Then she forced the pilot to his feet, though he staggered around, ready to fall down.

“Okay, doc, let’s go.”

Maggie grabbed the pilot’s arm and helped him from the room. Miller backed out, gun still trained on the men and closed the door. Maggie sighed with relief. The pilot fell down.

“Give him the shot,” Miller said. Maggie pulled a syringe from her pocket, pulled the cap off with her teeth and spat it out.

“Give me your arm. Come on, man,” she said, when he hesitated. Reluctantly he held his arm out. Maggie injected him, trying to ignore his moan of pain. “You’ll be feeling better soon,” she told him reassuringly. She took a cotton ball from her bag. “Here, hold that in place, keep your elbow bent.”

“Get him on his feet, doc. Time’s passing.”

Between them they hauled the man up and started to ‘help’ him down the stairs.

“Nice work, doc,” Miller said. “The ‘blood coming out of your eyes’ bit was especially good. I’ll have to make a note of it. What were those pills anyway?”

“First ones were salt tablets. The second ones were diuretics.”

“Diuretics?” Miller grinned. “As in they’ll make them pee?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. Miller had just threatened a roomful of mercenaries at gun point after suggesting poisoning the men in the first place, and she still said ‘pee’ like a little kid.

They marched through the lobby with the groaning pilot, ignoring the strange looks from the hotel staff. Their Land Rover waited outside.

“You drive, Maggie. I’ll keep him covered in the back while he gives directions.” He didn’t seem likely to offer much resistance, but Miller wasn’t taking any chances.

“Who the hell are you crazy bitches anyway?” the pilot asked as they drove away.

“I’m every man’s worst nightmare, fly boy,” Miller said, scowling at the word ‘bitches.’ “I’m feeling real hormonal and I’ve got a gun.”

The pilot gulped a couple of times. He looked at Maggie. “Well who’s she then?”

“Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman. Any more silly questions?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” They drove on in silence for a moment, then the pilot spoke again.

“I like that Doctor Quinn show.”

“Shut up,” Maggie and Miller said at the same time.

~~~~

“When is the helicopter coming back?” Madari asked as they marched Kyle up the steps at gun point.

“In the morning sometime,” Kyle answered.

“Sometime?” Hannibal said. “What the heck do you mean, ‘sometime’? What kind of sloppy operation are you running here?”

Kyle shrugged as they reached the top of the steps.

“Didn’t seem important. Since I’d decided to finish it off tonight.” Then he bit his lip. Probably shouldn’t have said that last part out loud he thought. But it was salvageable. In fact could work to his advantage, if he left out a few details and lied about others.

Hannibal grabbed Kyle’s shoulder and turned him around.

“You’re saying you’d decided to kill Sevchenko before the attack even started?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, looking back at Hannibal, unblinkingly. “You got something to say about that?”

Hannibal seemed taken aback. Did he have something to say? Kyle wondered. A thank you would probably be too much to hope for.

“This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything, Smith,” Kyle went on. “I’d just had enough.” Well that part was true enough. “And if anyone else hired me to come after you guys, kill you, I’d do it.” He grimaced. “They’d have to pay me a hell of a lot of money though.”

“Funny,” Hannibal said. “Okay, ceasefire terms. You and your men will be allowed to go free if you continue co-operating. When that chopper comes back you give it clearance to land and no warning that there’s any problem here. We take the chopper, you guys climb down the mountain and I never see you again.”

“The Russians?” Kyle said.

“Two of them are still alive. They don’t go free.”

“They’ve all got bounties on them. Shame you killed Kuprin. There’s a family in the Ukraine who were willing to pay half a million dollars American for him alive.”

“Back to bounty hunting, huh?” Frankie asked in a contemptuous tone. Kyle gave him a ‘who the hell are you anyway?’ look.

“Sorry, Dougie,” Hannibal said. “That’s one you don’t get to collect.”

Kyle shrugged. “They’ll still pay one hundred thousand for his head.” He ignored their disgusted expressions.

Jahni jabbed his gun into Kyle’s side. “You don’t collect, it’s not your kill.”

Kyle looked at Jahni sidelong. If he was one of my men, Kyle thought, I’d give him a severe attitude adjustment. He shrugged.

“Okay,” Hannibal said. Kyle knew Smith had no taste for collecting bounties. “You get to keep Markovic and Sokoll.” He was at least smart enough to know Kyle wouldn’t let those men go. He’d hand them over to the people who paid the most and that would be the last anyone would hear of them. “All agreed on terms?” They all nodded.

Kyle held out his hand to Hannibal, ready to seal the deal. Hannibal looked at the hand, then into Kyle’s face.

“Don’t push your luck.” He turned away. “Frankie, Bennett, with me. Let’s get the rest of the team somewhere more comfortable. Faris, can you two take care of securing Kyle and his men? I’ll send you some help when we’ve moved the others.”

“Of course.” Madari nodded at Hannibal and then waited until Hannibal led Frankie and Bennett away. He turned back to Kyle.

“Mr Kyle, your co-operation is appreciated. And your action in killing… that man is also appreciated.” His very polite tone made Kyle nervous. He’d had Arabs working for him before. They were always very polite. Right up until the moment they put a bullet in your head. “But remember this. If anyone else were to hire you to go after the team, then I, and my friend here,” he nodded at the crazy looking one whose gun was still poking into Kyle’s ribs. “We will come after you and teach you all about how important revenge is to an Arab, do you understand me?”

Kyle nodded, didn’t speak. Yeah, someone would have to pay him a _hell_ of a lot of money.


	25. Chapter 25

Frankie’s squad and several of Kyle’s men got Face, Murdock and BA out of the cells and into more comfortable quarters. They didn’t want to stay in small rooms, so Hannibal chose the long gallery room with cots in it that the guards were using as a dormitory. He ordered Hassan to keep the guards down the other end of the room and the sergeant started chivvying the guards down there.

“All right, fellas,” Hassan said. “I’m going to have a little inspection. I’m sure you all remember those from the army and jail. Now if I happen to find any items such as watches, wallets or heavy gold chains, that belong to the prisoners I’m really not going to be very happy…”

Hannibal smiled. You could always rely on a sergeant to cut to the chase. Hannibal turned to his own sergeant. BA was propped on a bed, leaning on a mound of soft pillows. Bennett was sitting at the foot of the bed carefully cleaning his feet. She had a pile of bandages and dressings beside her ready to use.

“How’s it going, BA?” BA looked up at him, his face strained with pain.

“Fine, man.”

“We’ll get you to the doctor as soon as the chopper gets back.”

“No rush for me, I’m okay. The L.T. is fixing me up good.” Bennett glanced at him, gave a small smile and returned to her task. “You sure there ain’t no other way off this mountain ‘cept that chopper?”

“Sorry, BA.”

“The fool gonna be okay to fly us?” He glanced over to Murdock.

“Kahil will fly, or we can…” Hannibal smiled evilly, “Persuade one of Kyle’s pilots to fly.”

BA sighed, but accepted his fate. Hannibal patted his shoulder carefully avoiding any of his wounds. As he walked past he patted Bennett’s shoulder too. “Thanks, Karen. Good work.”

On the next bed Face was getting the same treatment, from Frankie. Treating injuries had been one of the first things Hannibal had taught Frankie. He kept up a stream of chatter to Face, to distract him. Face had his eyes shut and his face was drawn with pain.

“…so I called in a favour with this wardrobe mistress I worked with on that sci-fi flick, you know the one whose number I gave you and we got the colonel all dressed up like a Sheik. Hey, should have called him Sheik Yamuni, like in that Vegas con idea you once told me about. You know that would make a great movie, you should pitch it! Make more money than any con. Anyway the girls were really not happy with their roles…”

“Frankie,” Hannibal interrupted. Not very polite, but waiting for a natural break in the conversation when Frankie was in full flow was a short cut to a long wait. Hannibal had concluded long ago that Frankie had perfected the ability to breath through his ears, to keep his conversation uninterrupted. Face opened his eyes too as Frankie looked up at Hannibal.

“Am I doing this okay, Johnny? Haven’t treated anything worse than skinned knees for a while.”

Hannibal checked. “You’re doing fine, Frankie. How about you, Face?”

“Dandy,” Face said, faintly. “Did it occur to anyone to go raid Markovic’s stash for some pain killers?”

Hannibal shook his head. “I don’t want to start giving anyone any strong drugs till I get you to Maggie tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow. Great.” Face glanced across the room at Murdock’s bed. He spoke quietly. “Hannibal, check Murdock, I don’t think he’s doing so good.” Hannibal looked over too, nodded slowly. Murdock was curled up on the cot. Wallace sat at the end of it, with first aid supplies beside her, but not doing anything, just waiting. None of them were doing good, Hannibal knew, but Face and BA were at least managing to put on their ‘fine and dandy’ masks in front of other people. Murdock’s looked like it was slipping a bit.

“Right,” Hannibal said. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” He walked over to Murdock’s bed. Wallace looked up.

“He won’t let me treat his wounds.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it, thanks. Go and help guard the men.” He nodded over at where Hassan had the men lined up and seemed to be enjoying himself intimidating them in that special way only a sergeant could manage.

Wallace nodded and went off to join him. Hannibal sat on the end of the bed in her place. He was glad to sit down. Exhausted wasn’t a strong enough word for what he was feeling. Every one of his muscles was groaning a protest for every move he made. He looked at Murdock, wondered how best to get him to let Hannibal help?

“Can I take care of your hands, Murdock?”

Murdock looked back at him. Hannibal didn’t move towards him, waited, let him decide when he was ready. Eventually Murdock held out his bloodied and bruised left hand. Hannibal moved up the bed, close enough to take hold of the hand carefully and started to sponge it clean using the warm water sitting in a bowl beside the bed. Murdock winced a couple of times, but Hannibal had a gentle touch when he wanted, despite his strong hands. Murdock started to relax a little.

“What’s this chopper I keep hearing about?”

“It’s down in a nearby town right now,” Hannibal explained. “Should come back in a few hours. It’s a Huey.”

Murdock perked up a bit, gave a half smile. “Really? Well it’s been a while, but I think I still remember how.”

“Murdock, you’re a casualty. The plan is for Kahil to fly it.”

“Kahil? No way,” Murdock said at once. “Boy’s never flown anything bigger than a Bell Long Ranger.”

Hannibal finished cleaning the left hand, started to dress it. The knuckles were badly scraped, several layers of skin torn away.

“You once told me that when you turn those babies over they all look the same.”

“I said that?” Murdock shook his head. “I’m an idiot. And turning it over is exactly what I’d be worried about. The crosswinds and turbulence up here.”

Hannibal smiled. They’d work something out. At least thinking about the chopper was distracting Murdock a bit. He picked up Murdock’s right hand and started to clean that. Murdock muttered some more about helicopters and went quiet again.

When Hannibal finished Murdock’s hands he said, “I’ need to do your back.”

Murdock stiffened up. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Murdock…” He didn’t really want to talk about this here, with a bunch of people milling about. But he needed to clean Murdock’s injuries. He lowered his voice. “I know about… what Kuprin and Sokoll did to you.”

Murdock at once turned his head away from Hannibal, turned his face to the wall.

“It’s… Murdock, you don’t have to talk about it till you’re ready and I know it’s hard for you to let anyone touch you right now. But please let me treat your wounds. If you need me to stop any time just say the word.”

Murdock didn’t move for a while, then he turned back to Hannibal.

“You’ll have to get my shirt buttons.” He held up his newly bandaged hands. Hannibal started to carefully undo the buttons on the shirt they’d found for Murdock. “Hannibal,” Murdock said, making Hannibal hesitate and look at him. Murdock didn’t look back at him, looked up at the ceiling. “Do Face and BA know?

“I don’t know,” Hannibal said. “But not so far as I know.”

You don’t have to tell them, do you?” His voice was quiet and low.

“No, Murdock. If you want to that’s your decision. I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks, Colonel.” He closed his eyes, let a long sigh escape him. Hannibal swallowed down the pain inside him and started to get on with the job.

He was almost finished when Madari’s voice came over his radio.

“Hannibal, come to the front door.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The helicopter is coming in.”

~~~~

Kyle’s men were being co-operative, but even so Hannibal left Wallace on guard with Frankie and the rest of the team. He took Hassan with him and found Madari, Jahni, Kyle and Berry just by the front door.

“Kyle’s given them clearance.” Madari gestured at the portable radio set on a table. Hannibal looked through the half open door. The area outside was brightly lit with strong flood lights on the side of the building.

“What are they doing back in the middle of the night?” Hannibal glanced at his watch, which Hassan had given him, after retrieving it from one of the guards. “Do you think someone got a message to them before the cease fire?”

“I don’t know,” Madari said. “But Mr Kyle has agreed to go out to meet them and tell them to give up their weapons. If that doesn’t work…” He looked at Hannibal. “We just have to do what’s needed.”

Hannibal nodded tensely. He closed the door as the helicopter was close now, the wash of the blades blowing around the scrubby vegetation in the area. The men watched from windows as the hulking black shape descended into the marked landing area, and resolved itself into the all too familiar shape, especially familiar to Hannibal, of the Huey. It touched down and in a moment the engines were shut off, the blades slowed. The gale they had kicked up gradually died away to a breeze. No-one got off.

“Okay, Kyle,” Hannibal said. “Go do your thing. Remember all of us are pointing our guns at the back of your head, so I’d advise against trying anything smart-aleck.”

Kyle went to the door, opened it and walked out towards the helicopter. He stood by it, waiting. Nothing happened. Eventually he called out.

“Hey, what’s going…”

A slight, dark figure hurtled out of the helicopter, hitting Kyle like a missile. A leg hooked around his, pulled and he was down, on his face, one arm twisted up behind him, a foot on his neck and a handgun trained on his head.

“Evie!” Hassan cried and ran outside. The others ran after him.

“Bidi!” Miller cried in delight. She let Kyle’s wrist go, kept her foot on his neck as she hugged Hassan.

“Evie,” Hannibal heard Hassan say. “Please, don’t call me Bidi in front of the bad guys.”

Hannibal grinned and then he stared. Maggie was getting off the helicopter.

“John!” she cried and ran into his arms. He held onto her tight. My god, he thought, she could call him whatever the hell she liked in front of anyone she liked. He’d been storing up plenty of wrath to unleash on Madari and Frankie for allowing her even close to this crazy mission, but all that wrath vanished like mist burning off in the sun. Of course she was here. Where else could she be? There was nowhere else he wanted her to be.

Politely trying to avoid looking at the embracing couples Madari said, “Excuse me,” to Miller. She moved back and let Madari pull Kyle to his feet.

“Kahil, take Kyle and the other one,” he nodded at Berry, “to the guards quarters.”

“The pilot’s one of theirs too,” Miller said. “He’s tied up in there.”

“Thank you. Him too, Kahil.”

Jahni went to get the pilot out of the helicopter. Kyle, looking disgruntled and giving Miller black looks he brushed dirt and grit from his clothes. He seemed to be getting tired of people standing on his neck.

“Can I ask something, Boss?” Berry asked Kyle as they waited.

“What?” Kyle snapped.

“Are we still getting paid?”


	26. Chapter 26

It was almost dawn. Jahni sat on the step of the front door, arms crossed on his knees and eyed the big helicopter crouching there. In just a couple of hours he would have to climb into the cockpit of that beast and fly it. He would never admit fear of anything, but right now he had as much appetite for flying as BA. He looked around at a movement to his left and the person he’d been waiting to speak to appeared from around the corner of the house. Wallace, patrolling the perimeter. She nodded an acknowledgement at him when she passed and he got up and fell into step beside her.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course.” She dropped back for a second and moved across so he was between her and the wall of the house then drew level with him again. Jahni gave a wry smile. Protect the officer. He’d performed the same manoeuvre himself often. Madari was quite used to it now and only rolled his eyes occasionally.

“Sergeant, I just wanted to say how impressed I’ve been with your work on this mission.” He kept his tone quite formal.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I may have…” He hesitated. Apologising didn’t come easily to him. “I have said some things about women soldiers, that I, well, that I think I need to apologise for. So, I apologise to you. You’re as good a soldier as any man. Better even than…” Me? His ego wouldn’t quite let him say that. “Some of the men in my unit at home.” He smiled. “Perhaps we should request you be sent over to give us some training?”

She gave him a look he had no idea how to interpret.

“But, well, the men would think I had gone mad, I’m afraid.” He tried a smile and was rewarded with a small smile in return. They walked on in silence for a while. Jahni grew uncomfortable with the quiet, though she appeared quite unruffled. She was never ruffled. He cleared his throat. “I have to say as well, your discipline, your focus, impress me too.” He grimaced. He’d thought a woman would be overly emotional, yet he was the one who’d let emotion get the better of him. Let his personal desire to take revenge distract him from his work. “I wish I had displayed the same discipline.”

She glanced sidelong at him. “Karen told me that you, well, she said, ‘flipped out’, went after Sevchenko.”

“Yes. I wanted to…” Wanted to what? He wondered. Blow his head off? Cut his throat? Rip out his heart with my bare hands?

He’d let that thirst for blood overwhelm him and he had… well ‘flipped out’ was as good a way as any to describe it. He had rampaged around the house like a crazed animal. He had disobeyed orders. He had argued with his commander in front of others. He’d let Faris down, even while trying to avenge his pain. And worst of all he hadn’t even been able to do that. Jahni hung his head and they walked on in silence

When they had walked right around to the front of the house again Jahni looked up.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” She nodded at him and turned to walk on. Then she stopped and turned back to him.

“Kahil.” He looked at her in surprise. She’d not called him anything but ‘Captain’ or ‘sir’ so far. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “I understand. And I’m sorry you didn’t get to do what you wanted to.” She turned and walked on. Jahni stared after her. Her voice had been sincere and the look in her eyes… she had someone too Jahni realised. Someone she would kill for, to avenge them, or die to protect. Whoever that was, Kahil thought, they were very lucky indeed.

Jahni turned to look at the helicopter and then climbed aboard and got into the pilot’s seat. He rummaged around until he found the flight manual. He’d studied one on their journey here, but no harm in a review. He wouldn’t let Faris down again.

~~~~

“They should be in a hospital,” Maggie said after she examined the team. “And that includes you.” She glared at Hannibal, who was now sitting on a bed she’d ordered him to. She turned to Frankie and Madari. “As well as the obvious injuries they’ve lost blood. That needs replacing.”

“How clean do you suppose the blood supply is in this country?” Frankie asked. As a man who’d worked on film locations all over the world it was a question he’d often found himself asking. “Because I personally would just as soon get out of this damned country before the sun goes down again.”

Synchronised nodding told him the others agreed.

“Is there enough fuel to fly the helicopter to Tirana?” Madari asked.

“They’ve got a fuel supply here, we fill her up, we’ll make it easy.” Frankie said. “Johnny, do you agree?”

“What?” Hannibal looked up. He didn’t seem to have been listening. His eyes were starting to glaze, exhaustion beginning to overtake him. “Oh, yeah. I guess. Whatever you guys think is best.”

“Frankie,” Madari said, distracting Frankie from looking worriedly at Hannibal. “Take the pilots, get them to refuel the helicopter. We’re taking off as soon as Doctor Sullivan gets the casualties ready for transport.” He looked around at the team. Face and BA were now sleeping, after Maggie gave them painkillers. Murdock was still awake though. He looked back at the three of them through half closed eyes. “I agree, we should get out of here as quickly as possible.”

~~~~

“I want to be up front,” Murdock said as he was helped onto the chopper by Maggie and Frankie.

“Murdock, you’re in no state to fly,” Maggie protested.

“I want to be up front,” Murdock repeated. “Put me up front.”

“Well, he’s gotta sit someplace,” Frankie said. He helped Murdock to the front of the helicopter where Jahni was running through pre-flight checks. He stared as Frankie helped Murdock into the co-pilot’s seat. Frankie shrugged, said again, “he’s gotta sit someplace.” He went back to help haul BA on board.

“Murdock, you should be lying down,” Jahni said. Murdock shifted in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Impossible. Every bit of his body hurt.

“I can’t be on a helicopter and not be up front. I just gotta be here, that’s all.”

“Murdock, I have to do this. I have to fly this helicopter,” Jahni said, his voice low, his eyes intense and serious. Murdock nodded slowly. He got it. He didn’t get why, but he got that Jahni needed to do this, to prove something.

“Then you’ll do it, and I know you’ll be great, because you’ve got me here to help you.” He smiled and Jahni smiled back and gave Murdock a thumbs up. Murdock grinned and returned the gesture. He fished out the co-pilot’s head set and put it on, wincing as it touched a lump on his head

In the yard Kyle and Berry and a few of the men who’d been helping load the helicopter moved back as the rotor blades began to turn. Frankie and Madari were the last of the squad still in the yard.

“You got the co-ordinates?” Frankie said. Kyle nodded. “Right. Well when you find it, feel free to keep the Land Rover, compliments of Charles Farrell the third.” He had no idea if Farrell was “the third” but it sounded good. “The side is bashed in a bit, but that’s the chance you take with a used car.” Kyle scowled at Frankie’s grinning face, clearly not amused.

“Goodbye, Mr Kyle.” Madari said. Frankie saw him put his right hand behind his back as if he had to resist the urging of habit to shake Kyle’s hand. “Please consider yourself lucky to still be alive and remember what I said to you about any future work you consider taking.”

Frankie liked the effect the polite tone was having on Kyle, whose scowl was deepening by the moment. He’d have to try out some similar politely phrased threats, he decided. Of course that wouldn’t fit with “what would Johnny do?” But after this mission maybe he’d add “what would Madari do?” to his repertoire.

“Get aboard, Frankie,” Madari ordered, kept watching Kyle and Berry until Frankie was on board then got onto the helicopter himself. The doors were closed, the engines hit full power and the Huey lifted off.

Kyle watched it until it was out of sight. Then he turned and looked back at the house.

“Berry, get the explosives.”

~~~~

Jahni and Murdock set course for Tirana. It had already been decided not to go back the town. There was nothing at the hotel they couldn’t leave behind. Frankie settled down trying to get comfortable sitting on a bench.

“How long will it…” Frankie began, speaking loudly over the noise of the rotor blades. “Oh.” Madari was already asleep beside him. Looking around Frankie saw all the other soldiers were too. How the hell did they sleep with this racket? Frankie wondered. Maggie was awake though, tending to the team. Face and BA were still sedated. Hannibal slept uneasily. After checking the others were properly secured, Maggie sat beside him and slipped an arm around him.

Frankie sighed. He missed Rosita suddenly. Imagined her arm around his waist. He closed his eyes. He was ridiculously tired. When he yawned his eyes watered and he thought his jaw would dislocate. But he wasn’t a soldier and he wasn’t going to sleep sitting up on a bench in a noisy and bumpy helicopter.

By the time they reached Tirana airport several hours later Frankie had managed to fall into a low level doze, waking frequently, fearing he was falling off the bench. His head pounded, his eyes were sore. He was hungry, thirsty, and knew he needed at least a dozen showers before he would feel properly clean again.

He struggled up and helped with the unloading of the team and their small amount of gear while Madari went off to find Farrell’s pilot to order him to get the jet ready. Frankie had little hope of getting much sleep on that either.

“Wheelchairs,” Maggie was saying as Frankie saw Madari heading back towards them. “The airport must have wheelchairs we can use. BA and Face at least need them.” She glanced at Hannibal, who was sitting in the doorway of the helicopter, looking beaten down and completely out of it, to Frankie’s eye. However exhausted Frankie was he knew it was nothing compared to what the team must be feeling. Murdock still seemed to be holding up well. Perhaps helping Jahni with the flying had been a welcome distraction.

“Yeah, wheelchairs. Good idea,” Frankie said. “Maggie, can you get them? You can probably commandeer them easier, as a doctor and all.”

She nodded. “I’ll try. Is something wrong, Colonel?” she asked as Madari arrived. His face was grim.

“The jet is gone.”

~~~~

Frankie found a public telephone and fed many many coins into it. He read a number off a piece of paper and waited. And waited.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, connect me. Dammit, connect… oh hi, I want to speak to Mr Farrell… Junior. What? He’s in a meeting?” Frankie unconsciously wrapped the phone cord around his hand. What would Johnny do? Screw that, right now he knew what Frankie Santana would do. “No, I don’t want to leave a message, I want to talk to him right now. You tell him Frankie Santana is on the line for him and if I’m not talking to him in thirty seconds I’m putting the phone down and calling Amy Allen at CNN.” He took a deep breath. “Thirty. Twenty nine.” Classical music assailed his ear. He counted down as far as sixteen when the music stopped and Farrell’s voice sounded down the line, distant and echoey.

“Santana, you’re alive. I’m almost impressed.”

“You can stick your hilarious remarks where the sun don’t shine, Farrell. Where’s that jet?”

“My father needed it,” Farrell explained, sounding unconcerned. “He had to fly to Florida for a golf game with the vice president. I had a hell of time trying to explain what his plane was doing in Tirana.” He sounded miffed about the last part, Frankie thought, which, on a scale of one to ten bothered Frankie at the level of minus several thousand.

“So because your dad felt like eighteen holes with your vice president of kissing ass, I’m left stranded in Albania with four injured men.”

There was a moment of silence. “Not _a_ vice president, Santana. _The_ Vice President. Mr Gore.”

Frankie blinked. “Oh.”

“The credit card is still valid. Book yourselves on a commercial flight. Now I have to go.”

“Well thanks for not disappointing me, Farrell, I figured you’d screw us over somehow and I’ve been proved right. Oh and by the way, famous people really hate name droppers.”

He slammed the phone down and went back to his party. Maggie had scared up a couple of wheelchairs. Frankie explained the situation.

“A commercial flight all the way back to LA in their state?” Maggie shook her head. “They’re not strong enough.”

“I just…” Frankie shook his head too. “I just want to get the hell out of this country.” He felt about ready to start freaking out.

“Come with me,” Madari said. He took Frankie’s arm and led him to a desk where they sold tickets. “Miss,” Madari said to the woman at the desk. “What is the next flight out of here with twelve available seats?”

“To where, sir?” she asked in heavily accented English.

“Anywhere,” Frankie said. Madari nodded in agreement.

“Oh.” She gave them a look that suggested she thought they were mad and checked her computer screen. “In two hours there is a flight to Athens. It has twelve seats. But…” She looked at them, at their dishevelled and not very clean appearance. “They are in first class.”

Frankie grinned at Madari who smiled back. Frankie took out the American Express card with the his/not his signature on the back.

“That’ll do nicely.”


	27. Chapter 27

_Two weeks later_

Frankie paced up and down at the open gate, watching the road that led away south. The sun was setting and Frankie was worrying. He wiped a hand across his forehead, which felt hot and gritty. How did people live in this heat? He thought irritably. And this wasn’t even the high desert, just the edge apparently.

He looked back into the compound that surrounded Madari’s house. BA was lying on a sun lounger under a big garden umbrella, asleep. A pair of crutches lay on the ground beside him. Maggie sat in a deck chair near him. Frankie could see her leg jiggling nervously. Face and Murdock were in the house, had been sleeping the last time Frankie had checked. And Hannibal was…

Car! Frankie shaded his eyes. In a moment he could see that it was Madari’s Volvo. In a few moments the big and battered looking car drove into the compound. Frankie chased it inside, and hurried over as Bennett, in uniform, got out of the passenger side. Maggie approached too.

“Hey, guys,” Bennett said, smiling. “We brought some grub, anyone fancy a barbie tonight?”

Frankie didn’t answer her. He pulled open the driver’s door. Madari got out, taking off his sunglasses. He looked at Frankie surprised.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hannibal went riding,” Frankie said, breathlessly. “Three hours ago and it’s getting dark now and I…” He took a breath. “I was getting a bit worried,” he finished lamely. Maggie’s expression as she helped Bennett with the bags of groceries told of her own worry.

“He went alone?” Madari frowned. “You shouldn’t have let him go alone.”

Frankie bristled, not feeling like being blamed. “I’d be really interested in hearing your thoughts on how I was meant to stop him.”

Madari grimaced, as if seeing Frankie’s point. “I’m sorry. I should have left you the car.” He looked at the darkening sky. “Which way did he go?”

“North. He said he’d stay on the road.”

“Right. Let me change and I’ll go and look for him.” He looked at Frankie’s still worried expression and gave a not entirely convincing reassuring smile. “Hannibal is a very good rider, Frankie. And my horses know their way home. He’s probably on his way back right now.”

He strode off and in a few minutes came back, out of his uniform now, dressed in jeans and a shirt. Frankie smiled as he also donned the Dishpan FX baseball cap, which had come back from Albania in the colonel’s backpack. He seemed quite taken with the hat. Frankie was never one to turn down free advertising so as far as he was concerned Madari was quite welcome to wear it as much as possible.

Madari went to the stables and in a few minutes emerged with one of his three horses, a palomino mare with flaxen mane and tail. She was a beautiful animal, but Frankie stood well back as Madari mounted. Horses made Frankie nervous. He’d seen too many of them go nuts and cause havoc on set. It was the way their eyes rolled in that crazed way he didn’t like.

“Good luck,” Frankie said, as Madari spoke to the horse in Arabic and she trotted towards the gate.

Madari smiled and waved to Frankie, called “Close the gates behind me,” before disappearing off onto the road outside.

Frankie closed the gates and sighed, hoping he was worrying over nothing. He turned back towards the house.

~~~~

BA had woken at the sound of Madari’s car arriving and was now struggling to get up from the low sun lounger. Frankie hurried over.

“Let me help you, BA.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” BA let Frankie haul him up and he winced and leaned heavily on his crutches as he put his weight on his healing feet. They started to move back to the house slowly.

“Where’s Faris going?” BA asked.

“Look for Hannibal.”

“What? He didn’t come back yet?”

“No… but I’m sure he’s fine,” Frankie said, with false sounding optimism. “Probably just lost track of time. He’s a really great rider. And the horse is so smart it knows its way home easy.”

BA scowled. Typical Hannibal. Typical darn fool officer.

“Did he take enough water with him?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m sure he did…” Frankie trailed off.

They went into the house, into the large airy living room, that was cooled by two big ceiling fans. Face and Murdock were sitting on couches, awake now. Face had a pair of crutches identical to BA’s leaning beside him. BA flopped down heavily beside Murdock. The couch made groaning noises.

“BA, don’t break the chairs,” Murdock said, teasing. BA shrugged. If he broke it he’d fix it. He’d spent a week now looking for things to fix, since he’d been released from a week in the hospital in Az-Ma’ir. He’d given Madari’s Volvo a thorough overhaul and tuning, admittedly most of the time sitting in a chair and supervising Jahni and Bennett doing the actual work.

Bennett was sticking around for the long haul it seemed. They’d said goodbye to Wallace, Hassan and Miller in Athens, but Bennett had come along when they caught a flight to Qumar. BA had thought Maggie might argue about the destination, but she was the one who’d said that the team were in no shape for a long flight back to the States. Qumar was a lot closer, Az-Ma’ir had good hospitals and Madari was an influential man in the country and could make things happen for them. It was instinct too, BA suspected. He had brought them to his own territory because he felt he could protect them better on his home ground.

The team didn’t mind. Once out of the hospital they were glad to retreat to Madari’s comfortable and very private house, in a quiet village north of the city. Madari and Jahni had returned to duty. Bennett went up to the city with Madari most days, leaving the team, Frankie and Maggie alone. And that was just how they wanted it now.

Time and privacy. Time together to process what had happened. Privacy to get back into a state where they felt ready to face the world again. Being in LA would have been too much like being in a fish bowl. Friends would have come looking to offer sympathy and that was just about the last thing any of them wanted right now. BA had called his mother to let her know he was safe, and had been forced to spend a long time persuading her not to catch a plane out here. As much as he longed to see her he didn’t want her to see him until he could be sure she wouldn’t gasp with shock at the sight of him.

BA sat quietly while Face and Murdock talked to each other. In the distance he could hear Maggie, Frankie and Bennett in the kitchen. He sighed once, and saw Murdock glance at him. BA turned away and a moment later he felt Murdock’s hand on his forearm. Neither of them said anything, Murdock went on talking to Face, his hand just rested there.

BA looked up at the wall, at the three swords and the antique Lee Enfield rifle he’d admired the first time he’d visited this house. Several times since they’d arrived he’d hobbled over to the weapons, stood looking at them, sometimes even touched the hilts of the swords. But he’d never taken one down, drawn it from its scabbard. Maybe he’d feel able to do that some day, before he left here. Maybe once he felt like a man again.

“Where’s Hannibal?” Face asked.

“Still out ridin’,” BA said turning back to the two of them.

“Still?” Face looked out of the window at the dusk. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Faris has gone ta get him,” BA said. “Took one of the other horses.”

“I could have gone,” Murdock said. “You should have woken me.”

BA just scowled at him. “You in no better shape to go ridin’ than me or Faceman. We don’t need two fools lost out there. Not that Hannibal’s lost.” He added the last part quickly.

Murdock got up and walked over to the open door and stood looking out into the twilight.


	28. Chapter 28

Hannibal sat on the remains of a wall that had once surrounded a house. The house was now a shell, worn away by the desert winds and partly buried in drifts of sand. Sometime long ago a family had lived there. The vanishing evidence of other houses stood around him. Perhaps the land had once been less dry. But now the desert had consumed the village. Soon there would be no sign left that people had once lived here.

Would the desert go on expanding south? Hannibal wondered. Would it reach Madari’s village one day? Engulf his house and those of his neighbours? Could desert one day claim the whole world? The whole planet just ocean and desert, the last evidence of humanity’s presence buried deep under sand.

The horse Hannibal had rode here on, a young grey gelding named Laheeb, waited patiently. He had found some tough grass growing on the ruined wall and was methodically stripping it down to bare stone. The horse looked up suddenly and whinnied. Hannibal looked in the same direction as the animal and saw another rider approaching at a trot along the road. After a moment Hannibal recognised the horse and the rider.

Madari slowed and brought his horse to a halt beside Hannibal’s grey The two horses rubbed their noses together and snorted, then the grey shoved his nose against Madari’s hand. Madari patted the animal’s nose and neck absently.

“Hannibal,” he said as Hannibal came over and took Laheeb’s reins. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Hannibal said, rather shortly and regretted the tone at once. He’d been, well not enjoying, but appreciating, the solitude. But the interruption made him realise the time and how close the darkness was. Naturally the others were getting worried.

“I am sorry,” Madari said. “I can see you want to be alone, but it is getting late and I, um, I have to ask you to come back with me now.”

He meant he had to insist, Hannibal thought but was far to polite to say so.

“Of course.” Hannibal forced his voice to lose some of the snappishness. “I hadn’t realised it was so late.” He mounted the horse, bit down a couple of groans that were more to do with the age of his joints than any of his injuries. As they set off Hannibal unhooked his canteen from the saddle and drank from it, found there was only enough for a couple of swallows before it was empty. Wordlessly Madari handed him a canteen and accompanied it with a frown. I know, Hannibal thought, I should have brought more. He couldn’t be thinking straight to be so careless. Then again he’d only planned on being out for an hour or two. He drank and handed the canteen back to Madari. “Thanks.” He smiled at Madari’s cap. “Nice hat.” Then he smiled at the weirdness of his life. Forget having been through the desert on a horse with no name, he was riding through the desert with a cavalryman in a baseball cap. But that song was right. In the desert you can remember your name, ’cause there ain’t no-one for to give you no pain.

Solitude. Hannibal had sought it this afternoon. And had seen the worry and, yes, disappointment in the eyes of his friends. They didn’t want him to go. They wanted him with them, to help them, to help him.

“I couldn’t help them,” Hannibal said, softly. He looked at Madari, who had turned to him when he spoke. “They were tortured in front of me and I couldn’t help them, I couldn’t protect them…” He shook his head, looked away. “I couldn’t protect them. How can I look at them again? Be their leader again?”

“Hannibal…” Madari bit his lip, then said, “Protecting them is not your job.”

Hannibal looked back sharply at him. “I’m their commander!”

“Which means that your job is the very opposite of protecting your men. Your job is sending them into danger.” He shook his head at Hannibal’s frown. “Of course it’s the job of a commander to minimise the danger to his men, by preparing them to face it, training and equipping them to face it. But in the end you and I put the men who follow us into harm’s way. That is our job.”

They rode in silence. The clip clop of the horses hooves the only sound. It was fully dark now, but the moon was bright enough to let them see the road clearly. The lights of the village twinkled in the distance.

“I see what you’re saying, Faris, and I guess you’re right. But maybe I feel like I’ve taken on that job of protecting them, whether I’m supposed to feel that way or not.”

“Yes. You’re like Kahil.”

Hannibal glanced at him. “Really? Well I wish I had his physique.” He grinned.

Madari rolled his eyes. "I mean I never asked him to become my, well, my bodyguard. He made that choice himself. He made the choice to take a bullet for me. I will be grateful to him for that until the day I die, but if he had not done it I would not have said he had failed me. Have your team ever asked you to protect them? Do they expect you to?”

“I guess not,” Hannibal admitted.

“Then stop beating yourself up about not doing something no one expected you to do.”

Hannibal gave him an odd look. “Beating myself up? Where did you pick up that expression?”

“From Murdock via Kahil I think.” He smiled, then he looked serious again. “You couldn't protect them in Albania, but you are protecting them from something now. From what drove you out here alone today.”

Hannibal looked at him questioningly.

“You are protecting them from your own pain. You want to hide it from them. You came out here to scream.”

Hannibal stared at him for a moment. How did he know? Could he see that Hannibal’s eyes were red and puffed up? And then Hannibal realised that he knew because he’d done the same. He’d sought the same solitude to release his own pain.

“Pain is not weakness, Hannibal. Your friends have seen you in pain before. They didn’t lose respect for you then, they won’t now. Let them help you.”

“It’s not…” Hannibal had to stop and clear his throat which felt tight. “It’s not the team. Not only them I mean. You’re right, they saw me in pain before and helped me. I’m thinking about Maggie.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t want her to see me… this way. I hate that you brought her on this mission, Faris, I really do. I know you and Frankie thought it was best and I’m sure she wasn’t taking no for an answer. But I just… I just wish she wasn’t here.” He looked away, ashamed of feeling this way. He’d missed Maggie and he longed to make up for all the time they could have had together if life had been different. But right now he’d rather she was back in Bad Rock waiting for him to come home strong and whole again.

“Hannibal, Maggie is strong. I don’t think she is frightened by your distress. And I don’t think she pities you, if that’s what you fear. All she wants is to help you.”

“Yeah.” Hannibal sighed. Maybe it was just foolish male pride. Hannibal felt Laheeb speed up a little of his own accord. The houses of the village were clearly visible now, low dark shapes with lit windows. The horse knew he was nearly home and was no doubt as hungry as Hannibal suddenly realised he felt himself.

In a few minutes they were riding into the compound. Frankie closed the gates behind them and they dismounted and took the horses round to the stable. Both animals went straight for the water trough. The mare, Aasifa, knocked the wooden cover off with her nose and the horses drank noisily.

“Smart animal,” Hannibal said with a grin.

“When she learns to put it back on, then I’ll call her smart,” Madari said. Nevertheless he smiled and patted the horse’s shoulder, said something in Arabic to her in a fond voice.

When the horses were done drinking the two men got the animals ready to go back in their stalls. They worked mostly in silence, speaking only to ask each for equipment or giving commands to the horses. Once they were done they led the horses into their stalls and settled them in. Hannibal closed Laheeb’s stall and when Laheeb turned around he scratched the horse’s nose, said softly.

“Shukran, Laheeb. Thank you.” The horse had been patient and had only occasionally given him a ‘crazy human’ look.

“Hannibal,” Madari said, closing Aasifa’s stall. “I just wanted to say… well, if you want to talk to me, I am always here for you. Not just while you are here, after you leave too. Telephone me any time you need to.”

Hannibal smiled, wanly. “Thanks, Faris.”

“Of course I know you have the team and Maggie. But if there are ever things you really feel you cannot talk to them about… Well, sometimes it can be useful to have someone who is outside of your situation to talk to instead.”

“You’re right. But, Faris, I don’t consider you ‘outside of my situation’. You, and Kahil, you may live a long way off, but you are definitely…” He smiled at the odd phrase. “Part of my situation.”

Madari bowed his head with a hand on his chest. “You honour me.”

“Oh come on.” Hannibal put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “I’m too hungry for all this chivalry stuff. Let’s go see what they've rustled us up for dinner.”

~~~~

It was midnight. The ceiling fans were turned off now. The room was turning cold. Only the A-Team were still up, sitting silent and contemplative. They didn’t need to wail and cry, Hannibal knew. From the days after the camps he remembered times when had simply sat around all together, silent, full of thoughts and memories. None of them needed to talk, They were just there as each other’s safety nets. The wailing and crying did happen, but more usually after they went to sleep. When the nightmares came.

“Is this it for us now?” Murdock said suddenly. They all looked at him, not understanding.

“I mean do we spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, waiting for the next kidnapping? Or worse. Waiting for a gunshot?”

“What are you talking about, Murdock?” Face asked. Murdock got up, fast, walked around with quick steps. He had a blanket over his shoulders against the chill.

“I’m talking about revenge, Face. I’m talking about all the guys out there we’ve pissed off mightily. Which one of them comes after us next? We sent lots of guys to jail back in our – hah – golden period.” He smiled, then shook his head hard. “And they’re starting to get out. Never mind Kyle, how about the ‘Reverend’ Martin James, huh? He got out three months ago. Anyone wanna tell me that guy isn’t still nuts?”

“Murdock,” Face said, softly. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Murdock didn’t. He continued to pace about.

“So next time we’ll be ready,” Hannibal said. “We need to start thinking more about security measures.”

Murdock gave a humourless snort of laughter. “Yeah, that’s our reward I guess. We do good, we battle against the bad guys of the world and we spend the rest of our lives in fear.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Murdock,” Hannibal said.

“Yeah. I ain’t living in fear, fool.”

“But I’m right. What is the reward for doing good? Come on, what is it? A warm fuzzy glow? That’s really useful when the bad guy shows up at your door with an Uzi.”

“The sisters used to say ‘virtue is its own reward’,” Face said.

“Yeah, that’s real comforting,” Murdock muttered.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Hannibal said, quietly, almost to himself.

“Exactly!” Murdock said. He dropped the blanket onto a chair. “And I’m not just talking about us. Faris fights terrorists and what’s his reward?” He strode over to a window, tapped on the glass. “This is bulletproof. The shutters are lined with lead, so are all the exterior doors. And you’ve seen the – hah – ‘screen doors’.” They all knew what he meant. Steel gates that closed over the exterior doors and were locked with chunky padlocks. “ _This_ is his reward. Having his home turned into a fortress. Sleeping with a gun under his pillow.”

“I um, I do that last one too,” Face admitted.

“See, we’re part way there already.”

“Murdock, what are you saying should be the reward for doing good things?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah,” BA said. “Faceman’s nuns got a point about virtue being its own reward. You do good things ’cause it’s right. Not ’cause you think you’ll get something in return.”

“Yeah.” Murdock sagged suddenly, deflated. “You’re right. I guess.” He came back to the seats and sat down beside Face, who put an arm around him. “I just… I’m scared, that’s all. Scared of this happening again.” He hung his head.

“Murdock we’re all afraid of that, none of us can deny that,” Hannibal said and gave BA a quick glare to stop him claiming to be scared of nothing. He leaned forward. “But the fact is, even if it did happen again, we’d get through it again. As long as we’re a team we can get through anything. You believe that don’t you?” Murdock turned his haunted eyes up to Hannibal’s.

“I… I guess.” It wasn’t the ringing endorsement Hannibal would have liked, but he had nothing more he could say to reassure Murdock. What could they do? The fact was they had enemies and those enemies could come after them any time. They just had to be on their guard. What else could they do, short of moving out here to the desert? He smiled to himself. Well no-one would ever find them then.

~~~~

Rosita Santana arrived home from her mother’s house after dropping off the twins for a sleepover. It was getting dark. She struggled to carry the baby, her purse, and two bags of groceries. She decided she would call Frankie once she’d put Isabel down for a a nap. She didn’t want to nag, but she really wanted Frankie to come home soon. She’d spoken to him yesterday and he’d said he’d come home when the team did. They just weren’t ready yet. She’d even got rather snappy with him, which wasn’t like her. She appreciated that he loved his friends, and wanted to make sure they were okay, but it sounded like they were just fine at that Colonel Madari’s house.

The boys missed him too, and she didn’t like him losing out on even a few weeks of the baby’s life. So much could change so quickly. Isabel’s small hands found the chain around Rosita’s neck and she tried to pull it into her mouth.

“No, honey,” Rosita said, but had no hands free to stop her. She reached the front door, put down the grocery bags gratefully and rummaged in her purse for her keys. Isabel started pulling her hair. Rosita let herself into the house and dropped the grocery bags in the hall. The she disabled the burglar alarm and untangled Isabel’s hands from her hair.

“Okay, little miss grabby, let’s put you in your play pen while I get those groceries put away.” She walked into the living room, reached around for the light switch and flicked it on. The room stayed dark. Damn bulb, she’d only changed it last week.

A shape moved in the darkness to her right. A man’s figure. Rosita gasped, froze for a split second then opened her mouth to scream. A hand grabbed her face from behind, clamped over her mouth. Strong hands grabbed her arms. And the first figure she’d seen darted in close and ripped Isabel from her arms.

Rosita tried to scream. No sound came from her, but her whole body tensed, her whole body screamed. _My baby! Give me back my baby!_ She couldn’t see Isabel. The man who had snatched the baby had turned his back to Rosita. She fought desperately against the men holding her, kicked backward at their legs, tried to bite the hand over her mouth.

“Please, Mrs Santana.” A voice came from behind her. Some unidentifiable European accent. “Calm down. No-body wants to hurt your baby. And no-body will, so long as you tell me where they are.”

She knew at once that there was only one ‘they’ the man could be referring to.

“Now you will tell me, Mrs Santana, where is the A-Team?”


	29. Chapter 29

Hannibal sat in a deckchair and watched Madari do his daily check on the Volvo. He wasn’t checking it for mechanical problems, Hannibal knew. He was looking for a bomb. Maybe Murdock was right, Hannibal thought. You do the right thing and this was what it got you. Most of the work Madari’s unit did was anti-terrorist and it made him the kind of enemies that meant he had to check his car for suspect devices every time it had been out of his sight. It was one of those ‘what you lose on the swings you gain on the roundabouts’ situations Hannibal supposed. You fought evil and, he smiled, thinking of ‘Faceman’s nuns’, you stored up rewards in heaven. But on the other hand you pissed off the kind of people who were willing to send you to your reward sooner than you planned on going.

After carefully checking the chassis, and under the hood Madari got into the car and searched it thoroughly. Only after completing his search did he turn on the ignition. The car failed to explode into a raging fireball, so he drove it slowly forward then braked sharply. Brakes working. Hannibal sighed. When he got home should he start going through this routine with his own car every morning? Madari got out and came up to Hannibal.

“I’ve got a driver coming from the barracks to collect me, so you can use the car today.” He handed the keys to Hannibal.

“Thanks, Faris, maybe we’ll take a drive.” Maybe they would. Face and BA especially had been cooped up too long, not able to get around easily.

“Let me get you some coffee.” Madari went into the house.

Hannibal closed his eyes. The sun was already hot although it was barely seven thirty. He’d had very little sleep last night. No one in the house had, all of them woken twice by screaming, both times from Murdock. He’d eventually only managed to sleep peacefully with BA beside him and with a particular blanket, for some reason Hannibal wasn’t willing to argue about at 4am. It was a Native American blanket Madari had picked up in a souvenir store during a camping trip to Yellowstone he and Hannibal had taken. It was normally draped over one of the living room couches as a throw, but Murdock had taken to wrapping himself in it in the cool evenings and sleeping under it at night. Murdock was having the worst nightmares of all of them. Hannibal thought he knew why. So far as he knew Murdock was holding back telling Face and BA about the rape. He wasn’t even talking to Hannibal about it. Maybe he needed more help, Hannibal thought, more help than we can give him. He thought about the slip of paper Madari had given him several days ago. It was in his wallet now. There was a telephone number on it, and a name, Dr Fauzi.

“This doctor is a specialist in treating the effects of trauma, both short and long term,” Madari had said. “He is willing to come out here and talk to any of you, if you wish.”

Hannibal had nodded and said thanks. Now he was seriously thinking about calling the doctor. Probably best to bring him out here if he did. Could be embarrassing if they set up an appointment only to run into Madari in the doctor’s waiting room. Hannibal had no idea if Madari still saw the psychiatrist regularly, but was willing to bet he’d visited in the last few days. Madari had watched the man who tortured him die in a pool of blood. Definitely worth a check in with the shrink after that.

“Coffee, Colonel.” Bennett’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. She passed him a small cup.

“Thanks, Karen.” He smiled up at her, squinting in the sunlight. She was in uniform. “You going to the barracks today?”

“Yeah.” She sat on a garden chair beside him, with her own coffee.

“Karen,” Hannibal said after a moment. “Is it okay for you still to be here?” He smiled. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, but isn’t your leave over?” He put on a mock severe expression. “I couldn’t possibly approve of you being AWOL, you know.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Colonel Fugitive,” she said, laughing, then went on. “Didn’t I tell you? Colonel Madari called my CO and sweet talked him into putting me officially on a ‘fact finding mission’. That’s how come they couriered my uniform over to me.” She patted her shoulder boards.

“I wondered where that had come from.”

She grinned. “Only problem is that means I have to write a report when I get home. Bloody paperwork, eh?”

Hannibal shrugged. “I haven’t done any army paperwork for twenty years.” He’d never exactly been up to date with his paperwork before then. He looked at Bennett for a while as she sat back in her chair, eyes closed, enjoying the sun. Why was she still here, really? “Karen, if you think that you have to stay here to protect us… well you don’t. If you want to go home…”

She shook her head, eyes still closed, smiling wryly. “Strewth, why do men think everything is about them?” She turned to look at him. “I have to stay here as long as Maggie does.”

“Maggie?” Hannibal frowned. “What the heck does Maggie have to do with it?”

“Colonel, do you know what kind of talk there’d be out there in the village if Maggie was staying here alone, the only woman that is, with a load of blokes and not married to any of them.”

Hannibal laughed out loud suddenly. He’d not even thought of it, but of course Bennett was right. They were quite old fashioned people around here, with strict social conventions. He laughed again. Bennett wasn’t a guard; she was a chaperone.

“Of course if she was married to one of you, then I could leave.” Bennett gave Hannibal a speculative look.

“Don’t push your luck, Lieutenant,” Hannibal said, giving her a quirky look. She sighed and stretched out her legs.

“Oh well. There goes my bid for chief bridesmaid.”

A car horn sounded outside then and Bennett jumped up and went to the gate to check it. In a moment Madari came out of the house, followed by Murdock.

“It’s the driver, sir,” Bennett said. She ran back into the house to collect her things. Madari turned to Hannibal and Murdock.

“Have a… a good day.” He sounded awkward. It was hard to think of any of their days as good right now. “Please call me at my office if you need anything.”

In a few minutes he and Bennett were gone. Murdock closed and barred the gate behind them. He came back over to Hannibal, stood in front of him for a few moments. Hannibal looked back up at him. Waited.

“Hannibal, I’m ready to tell Face and BA.”

“Well, whaddya know, another hot day, who would have thought it.” Frankie had come out of the house and up to Hannibal and Murdock. He looked at them, nervous suddenly as he saw their serious expressions. “Sorry, guys, you um, busy with something?”

Murdock shrugged. “Nothing that can’t wait till later.”

“You sure, Murdock?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah, later is fine. Doesn’t have to be right now. I’ll still be ready later.”

“Okay.” Hannibal got up and went towards the house, Frankie followed him.

“Did I interrupt something, Johnny?”

“No, Frank, that’s okay.”

“Right, good. Hey Faris left us the car, we gonna take a trip?”

~~~~

A couple of hours later they found a place to park in a side street of a town thirty minutes drive from Madari’s home.

“The marketplace is just through here,” Hannibal said, pointing as they all got out of the car. “I think we’ll install Face and BA in the coffee house and the rest of us will get some shopping in.”

Hannibal had a shopping list that Youssef had given it to him. Youssef was Madari’s old servant, who was retired now and living in the village, but who had volunteered his services while his former employer had guests. And who acted very resentful at the sight of anyone, though especially Maggie or Bennett, in what he clearly still regarded as his kitchen.

A coffee house took up half of one side of the market square. Once through the door the customer found himself outside again, in a courtyard. There was a fountain in the centre and many small tables, some with sunshades over them. Hannibal got Face and BA to one of these tables, and ordered for them. The manager of the coffee shop was solicitous of the two men on crutches and assured Hannibal he would see to all their needs personally.

“Hannibal, you just gonna leave us here?” Face asked. “Neither of us speaks Arabic, you know?”

“You’ll be fine. After all,” he nodded at a couple of old men at a nearby table, playing cards. “There’s a common language right there.” Face gave Hannibal the ‘thanks a lot’ look.

Leaving them to it Hannibal rejoined the others waiting outside. Frankie and Murdock walked ahead and Hannibal and Maggie strolled along behind, taking in the exotic sights and sounds and smells of the market, stopping occasionally to buy items on the shopping list.

As they walked Hannibal found himself thinking about what Bennett had said earlier about marriage and about his own thoughts the night before. About retiring out here to the desert. Maybe it was time to retire. Not actually out here of course. Hannibal liked the place, but it was a little too hot to take for more than a couple of weeks if you weren’t born to it. But somewhere obscure, quiet, out of the way. Like Bad Rock? He looked at Maggie. She was examining some fruit on a stall critically. Her head was covered with a light blue scarf to keep off the burning sun. The colour suited her very well.

Was it time to ask her the question? Marry me? They’d lost enough time when they could have been together, so maybe it was time for them to really be together, to make the most of the time that was left. But was that a good idea? He could no longer deny that he was getting old. He was still in good shape, mostly, but how long could that last? He didn’t want her to be his nurse. She deserved better than that. And he was pretty used to his own way, could he adapt now to sharing his life with someone?

And what if Murdock was right? About the dubious rewards of doing good?

Could he stand living with the idea that her being his wife put her in danger? Right now it was easy enough to keep their relationship quiet. But a wife was ‘on the record’. Even if they didn’t make it legal them sharing an address would be kind of a give-away.

What if putting a ring on Maggie’s finger meant he was also painting a target on her back?


	30. Chapter 30

Face and BA had drawn something of an audience. When Face managed to convey to the waiter that he wanted to borrow a deck of cards lots of the audience got off their seats and started to gather around the table of the two exotic creatures in their midst.

BA saw momentary panic in Face’s eyes at being surrounded by the men. But it only lasted a second, The faces surrounding them were curious and friendly, not hostile and mocking, like the guards at the house in Albania.

Face started to demonstrate card tricks and rattled off a running commentary as he went. Most of the men didn’t understand his words, but they seemed to appreciate the tricks, and were soon laughing.

Then Face laid out three cards on the table and BA frowned. Find the Lady? While they were in no position to fight or run away? Potentially risky. He just hoped Face could resist his instinct to cheat and that the lady could indeed be found on the table and not up his sleeve. Face’s hands flew, rearranging the cards as the men dropped coins on the table. BA felt a sudden surge of relief that Face’s hands hadn’t been badly damaged by their captors. Bets were placed, money was lost, men laughed at their friends who had lost money and Face gathered in the coins. The men drifted off.

Face isn’t smiling, BA thought. He just won money and yet he’s not smiling. It wasn’t very much money; the players had been wise enough not to lay down much more than the price of a cup of coffee. But Face always smiled when he won even a quarter. He’d smiled when the audience was here, when he’d been entertaining them and taking their money. But that was just the mask smile, not the real one. Face’s hands were unharmed. His face had healed up and bore only fading marks of their ordeal. But if Sevchenko had broken the smile then BA would… Well what could he do? Just try to help Face to smile again he guessed.

“Another milk, BA? My treat.”

“Yeah, thanks, man.”

Face called over a waiter and in a moment he had a cup of coffee and BA a chilled milk.

“The milk here tastes kinda funny,” BA said. “Think they maybe feed the cows on something different than we do?”

“It’s probably goats milk,” Face observed. BA froze.

“Goat’s milk?”

“Yeah, that’s popular in the Mid East,” Face said. He looked at BA’s frozen expression. “Or possibly sheep’s milk.”

BA looked down at his glass in alarm.

“Of course camels can be milked too…” Face’s tone was musing. BA looked up at him and scowled fiercely. Face had a cheeky smile and his eyes danced as he teased BA. Of course the Smile had its annoying side too…

“Whatever type of milk it is you gonna be wearing it ‘less you take that smirk off your face.”

~~~~

“You spotted a pay phone anywhere around here?” Frankie asked Murdock.

“No, why?” Murdock was looking at a stall filled with coffee pans, tea pots and other paraphernalia.

“Just thinking about giving Rosie a call. I don’t like to keep using the phone at the house. I mean the colonel says it’s okay, and I’ll pay him back of course, but that’s gonna be a big bill.”

“You’re missing home,” Murdock said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Frankie sighed.

“Well go home, Frankie,” Murdock said, then smiled, apologetically. “Sorry, not trying to chase you off or anything, but you don’t have to stay on our account. We’ll come home when we’re ready.”

Frankie shook his head. He rummaged among the goods on the stall. “I gotta see this through to the end. I started it, I have to be there at the end of it.”

“Well, technically speaking, I think Kyle started it.” Murdock examined a set of tea glasses, shook his head, put them down again.

“Maybe, but one thing I learned from you guys is, whoever started it, the A-Team finishes it.” He glanced at Murdock. “I mean, not that I’m a member of the team any more, I know that, but…”

“Consider yourself temporarily reactivated,” Murdock said. “You could say you’re a sort of A-Team reservist.”

Frankie grinned, as if he liked that idea. “Yeah, reservist. I could do that.”

“Of course that means you have to run an obstacle course once a year… hey, guys,” he said as Hannibal and Maggie caught them up. “I was just looking for a gift for Faris. Just something to say thanks for letting us stay at his house. A coffee pot maybe, since we know he likes the occasional cup of java.”

Maggie made a tutting sound and muttered about blood pressure. Hannibal smiled.

“Good idea, Murdock, he’ll like that.” He glanced at the shopping list and at the baskets he and Maggie were carrying. “I think we’ve got everything. Frankie, why don’t you go with Maggie back to the car and we’ll go get BA and Face?”

“Okay, see you in a few minutes. Come on, Frankie.” Frankie took the basket from Hannibal and hurried off after Maggie as she strode away.

Murdock picked out a coffee pot and gave it to the stall holder, along with a few banknotes. The man looked at the money, looked at Murdock, then peeled off a couple of the notes and gave the rest back to Murdock. He started to wrap the coffee pot.

“Nice to get out in the world again,” Murdock observed. “Even just for a couple of hours. Though do you have any idea how to make these kids stop following us?” He nodded at a gaggle of boys who were watching them speculatively.

“I’ve never figured that one out,” Hannibal admitted. “If you give them money or candies they just stick even closer. I think we’re a bit of a novelty. Though careful in case any of them are looking to pick your pocket.”

“Hannibal, please. After all these years of having Face practice on me I can feel someone starting to reach before he’s even thought about it.”

They walked though the market, Murdock with the wrapped up coffee pot under his arm, the entourage of small boys in their wake. It was nice, Hannibal thought, to get out into the world as Murdock said. People gave them curious but mostly friendly glances. This wasn’t a tourist spot by any means and Hannibal was sure Westerners were a rare sight here.

The atmosphere was busy, but not bad tempered. Merchants shouted about their wares, customers haggled, friends met and chatted and gossiped and laughed. A small town, Hannibal thought. He’d come from a small town and he was contemplating going to another one as he thought again about Bad Rock. Small towns were special kinds of places. Was he really ready though? To hang up his spurs? He felt like that now, but that was understandable enough after what they’d been through. In six months time would his feet and his trigger finger start to itch?

“Are you okay, Hannibal?” Murdock looked at him, concern on his face. “You’re… quiet.”

“Sure, Murdock.” Hannibal pasted on a smile. “I’m fine.” Murdock scowled at him, then he suddenly grabbed Hannibal’s arm and pulled him into a space between a couple of stalls selling rugs. The gap was dark and surprisingly cool, made into a tunnel by the rugs hung on the stalls either side and forming a roof over their heads.

“Murdock, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sick of… hang on.” Murdock turned to where the boys were peering in at them, baffled by this odd move. He gave them a hungry looking version of his most disturbingly unhinged grin. The children fled. “Right.” Murdock turned back to Hannibal. “I’m sick of you saying you’re fine. You’re not fine. The only reason you’re not having as many nightmares as the rest of us is because you’re barely sleeping. You’ve drunk more coffee in a week than you normally do in a month. You’re afraid to go to sleep. I can understand that, but for god’s sake…” His voice rose. “Stop saying that you’re fine about it!” He turned away, passed a hand across his eyes. “Dammit. Sorry, Hannibal, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just getting to me that you’re not… that you’re acting like nothing happened to you. Like it only happened to us.”

“Well that’s the truth isn’t it?” Hannibal said. His voice shook a tiny bit, but he got it under control. “I wasn’t tortured like the rest of you. I can’t compare…”

“They electrocuted you till your heart stopped!” Murdock yelled.

“One time, you were…”

“One time? Oh, that’s okay then, you were only tortured to death that one time.”

“And I can’t even remember it,” Hannibal pointed out. “I’m not going to have nightmares about something I can’t remember.”

“The nightmares are when you remember it, Hannibal. You know that as well as I do.”

He was right, Hannibal thought. After the POW camps he’d had nightmares of events he had no recollection of actually happening. But he knew they were memories, not nightmare fantasies. They were events too horrible to think about consciously and stay sane. Only when he slept and the unconscious took control could they break through.

Was that what he was most afraid of? Going to sleep and reliving his temporary death? There was an old superstition, wasn’t there, that if you died in your dream you died for real? Though how the hell anyone was supposed to know that he wasn’t quite clear on. If he died again in the dream would it not be temporary this time? He shook himself. Ridiculous. He didn’t remember it because his brain had been oxygen starved, that was all. The memories never got laid down. The memories didn’t exist.

Then I dare you, he said to himself. I dare you to lay off the scary coffee and take a nice glass of warm milk instead at bedtime tonight.

“Hannibal.” Murdock put a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Sorry. This isn’t the place I guess. But you have to stop denying that what you went through was less torture that what we did. That’s not me saying that, that’s the UN. ‘Severe pain and suffering whether physical or mental.’ ‘Or mental’, Hannibal. You want to check a copy of the Convention? I’ll bet there’s one back at the house.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. He put his hand on Murdock’s arm. Okay, two lectures in two days. Just Face, Frankie, Bennett and Maggie to go now, until he reached the stage of BA beating some sense into him. He gave a weak smile.

“Thanks, Murdock. Let’s go pick up Face and BA. When we get back we’ll try and get some privacy so we can talk. Do you still want to talk about…”

“Yes,” Murdock interrupted. “Yes, still ready.”

They walked back out into the sunshine.


	31. Chapter 31

“Do you think Gucci makes a orthopaedic range?” Face asked BA, looking at his feet in the bulky, rubber soled shoes they were both wearing. BA grimaced. Although his preferred footwear was very different from Face’s beloved designer loafers, he was also clearly unimpressed with the hideous shoes.

Maggie had just finished examining their injured feet and helping them back into their shoes. She looked up at the two of them, sitting on one of the living room couches.

“I’d have thought as a soldier you’d appreciate the importance of good shoes.” Maggie stood up.

“Maggie, no offence, but you’re a doctor, you probably think everyone should wear orthopaedic shoes all of the time.” Face sighed, looking at his feet again. “Life is too short to wear ugly shoes.”

“Let’s see how you’re doing, both of you. You first, Face.” She smiled. “Come on, soldier, on your feet.”

Face and BA exchanged a look. “She’s been hanging out with Hannibal way too much,” Face said. He carefully got to his feet with an appropriately theatrical put-upon sigh. Maggie took his hands.

“Just a few steps.”

Face knew it was as much about regaining confidence as anything else. The cuts on the soles of his feet were healed up and x-rays hadn’t revealed any obvious broken bones. Though the doctors had said that it was often hard to detect small breaks and then started talking about how many bones there were in the foot and Face had started to drift off.

The long term problems were tissue damage, Face knew. Even if he walked properly again, orthopaedic shoes or not, the pain might always be there.

It was certainly there now. He’d walked a half dozen steps and the sweat was pouring off him. Walking on knives. The whole little mermaid thing, just as he’d feared. He knew it would get better than it was now, but how much better? He’d seen people, friends from the war, who lived in constant pain from old injuries. Even if it wasn’t extreme he’d seen how it wore them down. In the end it wasn’t the injury that disabled them, it was the pain. Were he and BA finished so far as fieldwork went? Did that mean the Team was finished?

“Go on, Faceman, you can do it.” BA’s voice came from behind him and gave him new heart to get beyond the pain, take one more step and one more.

“That’s great!” Maggie said as she carefully lowered him onto the couch opposite the one he’d started from.

“How many steps was that?” Face panted.

“Ten.”

“Well done, Face,” BA said.

“Thanks, BA. Now why don’t you come join me over here? Go get him, Maggie.”

In a few moments BA sat down heavily next to Face. Sweat glistened on his skin.

“Kinda hot around here,” BA said.

“You’re both doing great,” Maggie said. She crouched down, on a level with them and took a bottle from her pocket. “Keep taking the tablets. I’ll get some water.”

“I wish she’d give us something stronger,” Face complained, looking at the bottle as Maggie left the room.

“You know that ain’t a good idea,” BA said.

“No… guess not.” They’d given him some very strong painkillers in the hospital. Face and strong painkillers didn’t really mix. One afternoon he’d lain in his bed and watched fish swim through the air. Beautiful, tropical fish, like bright jewels, just swimming, avoiding the furniture and equipment and people like they were ocean floor rocks. It was like being at the aquarium where you could go through that glass tunnel under the water and feel like you were in there with the fish. Like that, but more so. People came and talked to Face, but he found it hard to concentrate on them when he could see a brightly coloured fish bobbing around their head, nibbling their hair. When poached fish had been brought in for lunch he’d asked if he could have an omelette instead. He didn’t want to upset the sharks that he kept seeing gliding past in the corridor outside the ward.

“Too darn hot,” BA groused. This couch wasn’t placed under a ceiling fan and wasn’t catching any sort of breeze. The one they’d come from was under a fan, and their crutches were there too.

“So let’s move,” Face said. BA looked at him, but didn’t argue. They helped each other to stand. The wave of pain that swamped him almost persuaded Face that this couch was just fine after all, thanks. But he was up now, and couldn’t back out of what was his idea anyway. He grabbed onto BA’s arm as he wobbled. BA’s hand clamped over Face’s, their arms linked.

“I got ya.”

They had each other, BA was swaying too and using Face to balance.

“Best foot forward,” Face said and BA actually giggled.

“Nah, man, least worst foot forward.” They took a step together. With arms linked they had to move together or risk falling over like an unsynchronised pair of competitors in a three legged race.

“Maggie says try to keep as normal a gait as possible,” Face gasped out as they took the next step.

“Easy for her to say.”

“Yeah.” But Face saw her point, he didn’t want to develop a permanent shuffle.

“Think drill, sergeant, left right, left right.”

“Shut up, man, or I’ll give you left, right. Left hook, right uppercut." Sweat was pouring down their faces now. But a couple more steps and they fell down untidily onto the couch. Panting they both struggled into sitting positions, legs stretched out. Face was pleasantly surprised to see that, despite how they felt, his feet were not actually on fire.

They sat recovering for a few minutes. Maggie came back in with two glasses of water. She frowned at them, looked at the couch she’d left them on and then back at them with her eyebrows raised. Face grinned at her.

“Are you guys just conning me to get drugs?”

~~~~

Hannibal, Murdock and Frankie came into the room, just after Face and BA took their painkillers. Hannibal looked around, then said.

“Maggie, Frankie, can you give us the room for a while.”

Face glanced up at the identical serious expressions Hannibal and Murdock wore. Maggie looked at them too and spoke at once.

“Sure. Come on, Frankie, let’s go and sit in the diwaniya.”

The diwaniya room was a reception room where visitors gathered. And in some cases where powerful men hatched schemes and made alliances. But Madari preferred more relaxed gatherings of friends and his diwaniya was pretty informal. The room was furnished only with rugs, cushions and low tables.

“Hang on, let me grab my book.” Frankie found the book he’d been reading and followed Maggie out, nodding to the team.

Hannibal looked around again. Murdock guessed what he was thinking. Even this room was not private. Youssef was in the house, clearing up from lunch and preparing dinner. It was nearly ten minutes since he’d last offered them tea or coffee so would certainly be showing up to do so at any moment.

“Let’s go and get some privacy,” Murdock suggested.

A few moments later they were all settled in the large bedroom the four of them were staying in together.

“Is there something wrong, Hannibal?” Face asked. Silly question, Face, Murdock thought. There was plenty wrong for all of them.

“I just think we need to talk a few things through.” Hannibal glanced at Murdock. “It has been pointed out to me that I’ve been trying to play down what I went through.”

Murdock nodded slightly. He was sitting on a bed with his back very straight against the wall, his eyes half closed, not just from tiredness, but because he felt if he opened them wide things would escape. Things he wasn’t ready to allow to escape.

“I’ve also been told I’m keeping too much inside,” Hannibal went on. “And not letting you all know how I really feel.”

“Hannibal,” Face said, “It takes time.”

“I know. Look,” Hannibal leant forward. “I… I can’t start crying and nobody needs to hug me or anything. That’s not how I deal with it, you all know that. But,what I saw, all of you being tortured, that was torture for me. I know I have to stop denying that it was torture.”

“Of course is was!” Face cried. “God, Hannibal, there were times in… in that place you screamed louder than me. Have you really been telling yourself that you weren’t being tortured too?”

“Fool,” BA muttered. Murdock smiled. It wasn’t often that epithet was applied to the colonel. But it seemed appropriate.

“I know you always think of us first,” Face went on. “But what use are you gonna be to us if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Yeah,” BA said, nodding. “You gotta tell us when you’re hurtin’ man. What, you think we can’t take it?”

“You’ve all got a lot to deal with yourselves right now, I don’t want to…”

“You’re doing it again,” Murdock said. His voice was strangely flat. He felt oddly detached, like he wasn’t really in the room, was watching the others on a TV screen.

Hannibal glanced up at him, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

“Look, man,” BA said. “There ain’t no… no points system or something here. We ain’t comparing totals to see who got hurt most or less. We a team. Everything that happened there happened to all of us, you understand that? All of us.”

Murdock closed his eyes.

“I was raped.”


	32. Chapter 32

Murdock knew Face and BA were staring. How many points was that one worth? He opened his eyes. Yes, Face and BA were staring at him. Hannibal had his head down.

“Murdock…” Face said. “When?”

“Night before we were rescued.”

“Damn…” Face breathed. BA was clenching his fists and looking ready to smash something.

“Was it Kuprin?” Face asked.

Murdock nodded. “And… and Sokoll. Both of them.”

BA’s yell startled them all. It wasn’t a word, just a mindless sound of rage. He stood up from the bed, breathing hard.

“BA,” Murdock said, calmly. ” Please don’t start breaking the place up. We’re guests here.” BA sat back down slowly. Face got up then and went to sit on the bed beside Murdock. Murdock stared at him and then at BA. Neither of them had even looked at his crutches when he got up. Face flinched as he sat down though as if the pain had just reasserted itself.

“I’m so sorry,” Face said. He cautiously put a hand on Murdock’s shoulder.

“They were acting under orders,” Murdock said. “All part of the torturers tool kit, we know that, just like the camps.” He and Face had gone through it more than once at the hands of the camp guards in Vietnam. At least this time it had just been a one night stand. Murdock gave a stuttering laugh, trying to keep the lump in his throat down. Face’s arm went around Murdock’s shoulder.

“Did they…?” Murdock looked right at Face, right into his eyes. “You? Don’t con me now.”

“No,” Face said. “They didn’t. I… I guess they’d have got to it in the end. But they didn’t.”

“It happened to me.” The voice was quiet and totally unexpected. BA. Hannibal raised his head to look at him. Face and Murdock stared in shock. BA looked up. “Not there, Albania. I mean in the camp. I… one time… never wanted to say.” He put his head down, hid his face in his hands.

None of them moved, silence pressed down over the room like a blanket.

Murdock remembered BA back then. He’d been a big man of course, football player, boxer. Not a man on the base was in better shape. But he’d not been nearly as bulky as he got later. He remembered seeing BA the first time after the whole mess, after the team escaped from Fort Bragg. He remembered being shocked at just how big BA had got. He’d teased him about spending all his time in the stockade pumping iron. But BA had kept it up on the outside. So no-one could ever hurt him like that again?

“Why did you never say, BA?” Hannibal asked. “There’s plenty of times you could have told us. You actually lied, you always said it never happened.”

BA looked up. “Couldn’t, man. Not ever. Ain’t supposed to happen to a man like me.”

“That’s bull, BA!” Face’s voice was shaking, just barely under control. “You think it’s only the pretty boys that got it? It’s just another part of the tool kit, like Murdock said. To break you. To destroy who you are.” Murdock put a hand on Face’s shoulder, restraining him gently.

“Bein’ broken ain’t supposed to happen to a man like me either.”

“Ain’t supposed to happen to anyone,” Hannibal said. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, BA. And I’m sorry you’ve carried that alone for so long. We could have helped.”

“I know,” BA said quietly. “I know. I just… was only ready just now.” He looked around at all of them. “An’ you have helped.” He shut up again and put his head down. Murdock closed his eyes and leaned in against Face. It wasn’t easy to let anyone touch him right now, and he was desperate to go and take a shower, but Face needed to offer the comfort as much as Murdock needed to receive it.

He let his mind drift back to Albania. Not to the cell, to what happened in there, wasn’t ready to think too much about that. He thought about the moment Wallace killed Kuprin. His dreams of that moment were… odd. Partly they were filled with minutely real details, the feel of the stone floor under his back, the cold on his naked skin, the weight of Jahni’s body shielding him. Even the texture of Jahni’s clothes against Murdock’s skin and and the smell of him, sweat and sandalwood. And in the midst of that realism Wallace wasn’t a Marine armed with a rifle, she was an avenging angel, glowing with brilliant light, striking Kuprin down with a gleaming sword.

He really had to give her a call when they got home.

He opened his eyes again after a moment. Hannibal was sitting gazing off into the distance out of the window.

“You got anything to tell us, Hannibal?” Murdock asked.

Hannibal looked back at him, didn’t speak for a long time.

“Not today.”

Murdock nodded and closed his eyes again, head back against the wall. Slowly he drifted into sleep.

~~~~

Bennett got her wish that night and they had a barbecue in the garden. She and Frankie did the work, and argued in a good natured way over the grill while the rest of them sat around on garden chairs and deck chairs enjoying the cool evening air. Jahni was there too, bringing a case of beer with him, claiming Bennett had told him barbecuing wasn’t technically feasible without beer. Hannibal was grateful for the chilled beer, but it made him think about one reason that this was a very good place for them to be right now. That reason being the limited availability of alcohol.

It was all too easy to let a couple of glasses of whisky take away the pain. You told yourself it was only to help you sleep. You kept on telling yourself that all the way down to the bottom of the bottle. Hannibal knew from his previous visits that Madari sometimes had alcohol in the house, a bottle of whisky usually. Wine sometimes. He didn’t drink himself, but kept it for guests who did. There was none there now. And Hannibal knew that because he’d gone looking for the whisky one night. He’d come up empty handed and been left wondering if it had simply run out and not been replaced or if it had been deliberately removed.

Bennett sat in a chair at Hannibal’s side that Maggie had temporarily vacated and handed him a plate. “Get your laughing gear round that lot, Colonel.”

“Thanks, Karen. How goes the fact finding?”

“Fine. How you fellas doing?”

“Getting there, Lieutenant, getting there.”

“Good to hear.” She took a long drink of her bottle of lager and sighed. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” She looked around, then leaned close to Hannibal. “It’s no wonder these Arabs are so bloody touchy. I’ve been here for two weeks with no beer and _I_ was ready to start a holy war. They’ve had thirteen hundred years of it.” She saw Maggie heading back over. “Right, I’d better go see what Frankie is burning.”

She went off as Maggie returned. “What were you two talking about there?” Maggie said noticing Hannibal shaking his head and smiling wryly.

“The use of beer as an aid to world peace.”

~~~~

Despite the beer the barbecue was hardly a party and broke up by ten thirty. Jahni set off home, turning down a suggestion he stay over, since the house was already full. He drove out of the gates and Madari and Frankie locked them behind him. Madari secured the house, which with all its locks, took at least ten minutes.

By eleven thirty everyone was in bed.

The phone rang at two thirty-seven.

Madari groaned, rolled over towards the ringing phone on his bedside table. A phone call in the middle of the night to the head of a special forces unit was never going to be good news. The conversation was usually short and curt and generally ended with “the helicopter will collect you in fifteen minutes.” He turned on the bedside lamp then fumbled the receiver off the phone.

“Madari,” he said, thickly, still half asleep. He rubbed his eyes, leaning up on his elbows. He expected the voice of one of his officers, whoever was duty officer, he was still too sleepy to remember who that was tonight.

The voice that came on the line was not one he recognised. The man spoke, with an eastern European accent, in English, not Arabic.

“Colonel Madari, listen to me very carefully.”

Madari sat up, abruptly wide awake. “Who is this?”

The man’s voice went quiet suddenly. He had turned away from the receiver. Madari heard him say something in a language Madari didn’t understand. Then another voice, distant, answered with an angry tone by the man on the phone.

“Speak to me!” Madari snapped.

“Your friend is being un-cooperative, Colonel.”

Madari felt his heart freeze. He couldn’t breath.

“Friend?”

“We collected him earlier on the road.” He spoke away from the receiver again. A harsh tone, an order. And then a cry of pain. Madari knew the voice at once. He fought for control as his hands started to sweat and panic clawed at his mind.

Kahil.

“That was only a finger, Colonel. We will return him intact. As long as you co-operate.”

Madari’s head was spinning and he could feel bile in his throat. Nevertheless he kept his voice icy cold.

“What do you want?”

“I want the A-Team, Colonel.”

“No.”

“I don’t care about Santana or the women, but in ten minutes your gate opens and the A-Team comes out. If that doesn’t happen I’ll cut off Captain Jahni’s head and toss it over the wall.”

The line went dead. Not hung up, the line was cut. Madari jiggled the phone’s cradle a couple of times, but there was no dial tone. And there was no cell phone coverage out here. They were cut off.

Madari took a deep breath. Without looking he slid his hand under the pillow and took out a pistol. He got out of bed and in the lamplight checked the gun was fully loaded.

His hands were shaking.

He simply had no choice.

He left his bedroom and headed towards the room where the A-Team slept.


	33. Chapter 33

“Mrs Santana, your husband is a very lucky man.” The man sitting at the Santana’s kitchen table nodded at the roast chicken dinner he was tucking in to. “You are a very good cook.” He laughed. “I wish you could give some lessons to my wife…” The man sitting opposite said something in a foreign language and the two of them laughed.

Rosita gave a weak smile, and edged closer to Isabel’s high chair as she fed the baby. She felt as if she had spent the last twenty four hours living in some kind of dream. These men were holding her captive and yet they acted as if they were guests. They were polite. They helped her load the dishwasher after they’d all eaten together. They even played with the baby. But they had guns. And they’d forced her to tell them all about where the A-Team could be found and who else was there with them.

After she’d given them the information they handed Isabel back and Rosita held her sobbing, while the men made a phone call. Two of them left then, leaving two behind, the two now acting like they were guests. They didn’t hurt her, but she wasn’t allowed to leave, or to answer the telephone. That afternoon Frankie had called and she’d listened as he left a message on the answering machine, saying he’d be home soon, that the guys were doing okay, that he missed her and the kids. She’d wanted to dive at the phone, pick it up and scream a warning at him. If it wasn’t for Isabel she thought she’d have done just that, but instead she’d had to stand and listen to his voice for what she was sure would be the last time.

She gasped and dropped a spoonful of baby food onto the high chair’s tray as the phone she’d just been thinking about rang. The two men stopped talking. They all listened as the phone rang four times then the answering machine kicked in. First they heard Frankie’s voice on the outgoing message then a voice came on the line, the same language her captors spoke. The message was short, and as soon as it ended the two men stood up. Rosita shrank in her chair, clutched the baby’s hand.

“Mrs Santana, we are leaving now,” one said. “We are sorry for the…” He looked puzzled for a moment as if trying to think of the right English word.

Mind numbing terror? Rosita wanted to suggest. Threats to kill my baby?

“The inconvenience,” he finished. He went to the kitchen phone and yanked out the wire. They’d already done that to the other phones in the house. “Please wait at least thirty minutes after we go before you leave the house.” She nodded, dumbly.

The other man grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and then picked up a slice of the apple pie she’d set out for dessert. He nodded and smiled at Rosita, mouth full of fruit and pastry. As they left he gave Isabel a small wave, making her laugh and gurgle in reply.

Then they were gone, out of the front door. Rosita grabbed Isabel from the high chair and ran to the living room, peeked out of the drawn shades. The two men got into a car parked outside and it drove off.

Forget waiting for thirty minutes. Rosita ran back to the kitchen and carrying her baby she ran out of the back door into the darkness.

~~~~

The gate opened and the A-Team emerged. Face and BA hobbled painfully on their crutches. Hannibal threw a dirty look behind him as Madari followed them out, his pistol levelled at their backs.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to us, you ungrateful bastard.” Hannibal’s voice was filled with cold rage. “I thought we were friends.”

Three cars waited, across the road from the gate. Men stood around them, and more men crouched behind, handguns pointing at the men coming out of the gate. Right up front Jahni was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind him. He looked battered and bloodied. A tall man, hair iron grey, face tanned and prematurely aged held a gun to the back of Jahni’s neck.

“I’m sorry, Hannibal.” Madari’s voice was distraught. “All of you. I have no choice. He… outranks you.”

Jahni stared in shock. “No!”

“Send him to me,” Madari called out.

“Up,” the leader said to Jahni. Jahni got to his feet. The team were moving forward haltingly, starting to cross the road. “Walk. Slowly.”

Jahni started to walk forward, towards the team. He had an agonised expression on his face.

“I can’t, I can’t let you.” He looked past the team at Madari. His yell was angry, disbelieving. “You can't do this, you can't, I won’t go along with it.”

“You must do as I order you, Captain. Keep walking.”

Jahni was almost level with the team now. His face, his eyes, were full of anger and confusion. He’s going to try something, Hannibal thought, and then everybody is screwed.

He looked right into Jahni’s eyes as they all drew level and then he flicked a quick glance, pointing with his eyes at Face’s crutches. Jahni followed his gaze then looked back at Hannibal, his eyes wide open. Hannibal heard him give a tiny gasp.

“Keep walking.” Madari’s voice came from behind the team.

“And keep on being loud and upset,” Hannibal said, quietly.

Jahni nodded to Hannibal and walked on. The team kept walking, towards the cars and the waiting men. They heard Jahni’s voice behind them, still speaking English. Hannibal could see that several of the waiting men were looking past the approaching team, their attention distracted by the yelling Jahni.

“If you do this, if you betray our friends to their enemies, it is over! I will never follow you again!”

The team were almost across the road now. A little closer, just a little.

“I cannot serve a man with no honour!”

“I’m sorry, Kahil, this is the only path that was clear.”

Clear. The word told the team that Jahni was beyond Madari, was almost into cover behind the gates.

The grey haired man turned to the team as they stepped right up to him and his men.

“Take them,” he ordered.

The men moved at them fast, but the team moved faster, Hannibal, Murdock and Face reached towards the crutches BA and Face were using, and drew the swords from the scabbards taped flat against them. Their captors gasped and fell back instinctively as the long curved cavalry sabres flashed lethally in the moonlight.

Giving the enemy no chance to recover their wits the team lashed out. Men screamed as the swords slashed at them. Guns fell. BA fell to his knees. But he hung onto one of his crutches and smashed it into the knees of the nearest man, who fell with a howl of agony, met BA’s fist on the way down and fell silently the rest of the way. BA wrenched the pistol from his hands.

Gunshots split the night air. Madari, staying bent low, firing his pistol. And from the wall rifle fire pinned down the men in cover behind the cars.

Hannibal slashed down and laid a man’s arm open to the bone with the sword Madari’s father had worn with his dress uniform. A harder blow would have taken the arm off altogether. The man screamed and fell, dropping his gun.

Hannibal heard Murdock scream behind him, and spun, fearing the worst. But it wasn’t a scream of pain, but rather of rage, a battle cry. Murdock wielded the longest of the swords, the one belonging to Madari’s grandfather, Ahmed. A weapon that had been carried into battle before today. Murdock looked crazed as he slashed the sword into a man’s shoulder even as the man tried to raise his gun to shoot Murdock.

Like BA, Face was on his knees, but was taking out the enemy no less efficiently for that. Some of the men didn’t even see him until he sliced Madari’s own dress sword into their legs. Hannibal saw one man fall and Face smash the hilt of the sabre into his face knocking him unconscious.

Madari’s gun was still thundering. Hannibal had tried to count how many shots he’d fired, but had lost count. The rifle fire from the wall continued. The guns of the attackers all had silencers on them, made muffled sounds as they fired in confusion at the apparently insane sword wielding team and Madari, as he ran across the road towards the team, still firing. The leader yelled something and suddenly the attackers were scattering, leaving wounded and dead colleagues lying on the ground. Hannibal grabbed Murdock as Murdock ran past him. The sword Murdock held was dripping blood, but it was hungry for more, Murdock was trying to go after the enemy. His eyes were huge and totally wild.

“No!” Hannibal yelled, shook Murdock’s arm. “Grab BA, come on!” Hannibal paused only to scoop up a couple of dropped pistols, then grabbed BA’s arm, pulled him to his feet. Madari grabbed Face’s arm, pulled him to stand up, ignoring Face’s wild cry of pain and taking his sword from Face as Face started to drop it.

“Back inside!” Hannibal shouted. “Covering fire!” He yelled back towards the compound and the rifle fire from the wall started up again. The team and Madari ran, Face and BA stumbling and crying out with pain. They gunfire that followed them was too wild to do more than frighten. A few bullets came close enough to be felt, or to kick sand at their feet, but most buried themselves uselessly in the gates or ricocheted off the walls.

“Open!” Madari yelled as they approached. One gate opened, not all the way, just enough for them to hurtle through, gunfire following them all the way. Frankie and Maggie pushed the gate closed as the men threw themselves inside. Face and BA both fell down, moaning with agony. Hannibal and Madari dropped the swords they carried and threw themselves at the gate as if fearing the enemy would charge it, while Frankie barred it and Maggie secured the padlocks.

Panting slightly Hannibal grinned at Madari.

“Are we having fun yet?”

Madari grinned back. “Nice acting. When you called me an ungrateful bastard I almost shot you myself.”

Hannibal laughed.

“Is it something about the rank of colonel?" Frankie muttered. "Does the crazy come with the eagles?”

Hannibal sobered himself, got control of the adrenaline fed excitement and looked around, taking inventory. Murdock stood, Ahmed’s sword still in his hand, still dripping with blood. He was pale, trembling and terrifying. Jahni, his hands still cuffed behind his back, bounced on the balls of his feet, looking madly frustrated at not being able to fight. A ladder leaned against the wall and Bennett was at the top of it, carrying Ahmed's antique Lee Enfield rifle, first used in the Great War.

“Get me out of these cuffs!” Jahni cried. Hannibal bent over Face who was panting, still on his hands and knees.

“Face, you feel up to picking the locks on those cuffs?”

Face glared up at him, “I dunno, do you feel up to pulling one of the swords out of your…”

“Bolt cutters,” Hannibal interrupted. “Frankie, small shed beside the stables.”

“Right,” Frankie said and ran off.

“They’re pulling back!” Bennett called from her vantage point.

“Leaving?”

“Hang on. No… no, just out of range. They took their wounded, left the dead.”

“Right.” Hannibal looked around. “We have to assume they’re coming back. And it won’t just be for the team this time.”

“Who are they?” Face asked. “Is it Kyle? Did he change his mind?”

“Captain,” Hannibal said to Jahni. “Did you recognise any of them?”

“No, none of them were from the house in Albania, I’m sure of it. They were Eastern European, but not Russian. I don’t know know what language they were speaking.”

“This has to be related though,” Hannibal said, “I mean we have plenty of enemies, but… Damn, I know what this is.” He looked around at their curious faces. “This is Plan B.”

Frankie returned with the bolt cutters and made short work of Jahni’s cuffs. Though he looked alarmed and said, “Um, Kahil, did you know one of your fingers…?”

“Yes, I noticed,” Jahni snapped. Once free of the cuffs he went over to Maggie, showed her his left hand. One finger stuck out at a sickening angle.

“Frankie, my bag is…”

“I know,” Frankie sighed and sped off again.

“Hannibal, what do you mean Plan B?” Madari asked, then flinched as Maggie reset Jahni’s finger with a vile cracking sound.

“A contingency plan,” Hannibal said, when Jahni finished swearing. “Sevchenko could have set up a plan with the guy in charge out there. If we get away, if Sevchenko is killed, then this guy’s squad comes after us and finishes us. Hell, they don’t even have to have met Sevchenko. If they were paid in advance.”

“Nice of Kyle to warn us about this little sting in the tail,” Face said.

“He may not even know about it,” Hannibal said.

“So this is revenge from beyond the grave?” Murdock said, in a strange hollow voice.

“Um, yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Hannibal turned back to Jahni, who was having his fingers strapped up. “How many of them were there?”

“Eighteen.”

“Bennett, how many bodies are there out there?”

“Three. And they dragged off five other guys who were unconscious or bleeding a hell of a lot.”

“So ten still on their feet,” Hannibal said. “Some maybe with injuries.”

“And all of ’em with guns,” BA said, from where he still sat on the ground. He and Face were sitting back to back now, looking better. Murdock stood over them, the sword still in his hand, the wild look still in his eyes.

“Okay, weapons inventory. Guns? Your Browning, Faris. Plenty of ammo?”

“Plenty. Frankie has my spare one. The only rifle I have here is…” He nodded up at Bennett. “Lieutenant, how many cartridges do you have left?”

She held up three fingers, below the top of the wall. Hannibal grimaced. Of course the thing was almost an antique, ammunition for it wasn’t easy to come by. “Okay, I picked these up outside.” He held up two handguns. “BA, you got one too?” BA nodded, held up a semi automatic. “Good. Okay, so five handguns. The three swords. After that?”

“After that we’re down to the kitchen knives,” Madari said. He looked slightly cheered suddenly. “There is an axe in the tool shed.”

“Nice.” Hannibal said. “I think we’d better get inside, before they start tossing grenades over the wall. Bennett come down from there. Bring the ladder.”

They regrouped in the living room. Frankie had retrieved the axe and was grumbling about being the gopher around here.

Their weapons were piled on the dining table. Except for Ahmed’s sword which Murdock wasn’t letting go of.

“Let’s get this place locked up tight,” Hannibal said. “It’s pretty secure, it’s possible we can hold them off until morning.”

“That was a lot of gunfire before,” Frankie said. “Won’t your neighbours come check it out?”

Madari shook his head. “No, I’ve told them if they ever hear gunfire at my house to stay away and call the military police.”

The team looked at each other. Getting saved by MPs of any nationality really wasn’t their thing.

“But those men have probably cut off not just my phone but the main line into the village. And there is no cell tower here.”

“Then we have to assume we’re on our own,” Hannibal said. He almost added ‘good’ but restrained himself. Overconfidence was a killer.

He looked around at his group. Tricky. Two civilians to protect. Two of his men unable to run around like they normally could. Bennett, who he wasn’t too sure about yet for this kind of close quarters combat. Not Special Forces trained. Gutsy though.

“Right. Frankie, Maggie, Karen, Face and BA get the hand guns. Me, Faris and Murdock will use the swords. Kahil you take the rifle until it’s empty and after that I’m sure you’ll enjoy using the axe.” Jahni gave a curt nod, his face grim. He probably didn’t need even that Hannibal thought. Get him pissed off enough and he was lethal bare handed. He looked pretty pissed off now.

“And everyone can have a kitchen knife too.” Hannibal waved a hand at a motley collection of steak knives, bread knives, vegetable knives and best of all, a meat cleaver. “Okay.” Hannibal said after they all armed themselves. “These…” he held up the weapons he carried. “…are the last resort. A pitched battle inside this house is the last thing I want. This is a siege. The aim of a siege is to keep them on the outside. So let’s go to work.”


	34. Chapter 34

There was one small problem about the swords.

“Something wrong?” Hannibal, guarding the exterior door in the diwaniya, had glanced through the serving hatch between that room and the kitchen and noticed Madari was looking at his sword with a frown on his face.

“I was just thinking about, well, actually using this.”

“You told me you used to be the regimental fencing champion.”

“I was, for one season, twenty years ago. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I can fence, but what I mean is, I’ve never actually killed a man with a sword.”

Hannibal didn’t admit it but the same thing had occurred to him. He’d learnt a little about handling a sword many years ago. But actually running a man through? That was a different thing.

“How about with a bayonet?” Hannibal asked. He saw Madari’s face flicker into a grimace for a second.

“Yes.” Clearly that wasn’t a memory he was happy to be reminded about.

“It can’t be too much different. And I don’t think we’ll be fencing with these guys.” More like hacking and chopping, Hannibal thought. He shook off the morbid thoughts.

“I’m going to check on the others,” Hannibal said. “Can you cover this door too for a few minutes? Yell if you hear anything.” He held up the walkie talkie.

Madari nodded, patted the walkie talkie clipped to his belt. “Will do.”

The walkie talkies were the ones Frankie’s team had used in Albania. They’d had to abandon the guns, could hardly waltz onto a commercial flight with those. But several walkie talkies had come along for the ride, mostly forgotten about in the bottom of backpacks. Hannibal went through the doorway that led into the dining area, which then opened out into the big open plan living room. Maggie, Frankie, Murdock and Jahni were in there. This room not only had the main entrance door but three windows to cover. The windows were shuttered and the door had the barred gate closed over it. The number of entry points made it feel like the most vulnerable room, but on the other hand Hannibal felt it was too obvious a place to attack. That was why he’d put Maggie and Frankie in there, with two people he felt sure could defend them.

Jahni paced up and down by the main door. Maggie and Frankie sat on couches, both looking nervous. Murdock was standing looking at framed photographs on the wall. Hannibal went up to him. The picture he was looking at was black and white and rather faded. Ahmed Madari, as tall as Murdock himself, fiercely bearded and wearing his uniform like a suit of armour. He stared at the camera with the slightly mad look he had in most of the pictures of him Hannibal had seen.

“A warrior, Hannibal,” Murdock said. “A hero.” Mudock had an intense look in his eyes. “He carried this sword into battle and defeated all the enemies that crossed his path.”

“Err…yes,” Hannibal said. “Murdock you do realise that a lot of those stories Faris tells about his grandfather are…” he chose the most polite word he could. “Exaggerated?”

Murdock didn’t seem to hear him. He held up the sword, turned it so it caught the light.

“Do you know what the inscriptions on it are?” Murdock nodded at the Arabic characters engraved the length of the blade. Hannibal realised he had never asked.

“I don’t know. Verses from the Koran maybe? Or sayings about glory, honour, that sort of thing.”

Murdock shook his head. “They’re love poems.”

“Love poems? On a sword?”

Murdock turned to Hannibal. His expression was identical to the one Ahmed wore in the photograph. His eyes glittered. “A warrior has to know why he fights, Colonel.”

“Right…” Hannibal said slowly. “Murdock go cover that window would you?”

Murdock saluted and marched off.

“I should have given him a gun,” Hannibal muttered. He glanced over at Maggie, nervously passing the gun she carried from hand to hand. Murdock, or possibly Ahmed, was right, a warrior had to know why he fought. Maggie looked up as sensed him looking at her and gave him a smile. He wanted to stay with her, protect her, but she wasn’t the only person in the house. He was responsible for all of them. He smiled at her, reassuring, giving her part of his strength, then he went on through the door that led to the bedrooms. The bedroom the team were sharing was dark, silent, apparently unoccupied.

“BA?” Hannibal said. BA materialised from the darkness, from the shadows he’s cloaked himself in. He moved forward only enough for Hannibal to see him and then stood still.

“All quiet,” BA reported. “Shutters ain’t so much as rattled.”

“Good. Stay alert.”

BA nodded and stepped back to become invisible again.

“White paper,” Hannibal muttered as he left the room. Alertness was an issue here. It was almost four o’clock now, they’d all had their sleep interrupted. The first order Hannibal had given, after they distributed the weapons, was to make a big pot of very strong coffee. He’d made BA drink some of it, even though BA wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, especially not coffee this strong. He was starting to worry that Murdock had drunk too much of it.

Hannibal checked the room next door. A tiny room used for storage mostly and currently Frankie’s bedroom. It had no window so no-one was on guard in there. Stacked boxes, a set of stepladders and a rail of Madari’s winter clothes and extra uniforms lurked in the darkness. The cot Frankie slept on took up most of the remaining floor space. Hannibal gave it a quick once over and moved on to the bathroom. The windows in there were high, small and though not shuttered they had grids over them on the inside. The bad guys would have to be pretty skinny to get through them. All quiet. Madari’s bedroom next. Face was in there. Eschewing BA’s invisibility policy he was sitting up on the bed, his back resting on pillows propped against the headboard. His gun was held casually across his knees, but ready to raise it to point at the shuttered window at any moment.

Hannibal frowned. “Don’t get too comfortable, Face,” he said. Face couldn’t pace around of course, but he was no use if he fell asleep.

“Hannibal,” Face said, his tone irritated, “Between my feet and that coffee I wouldn’t go to sleep right now if you whacked me with a two by four, so I’d appreciate a little confidence, thanks.”

“Sorry, Face. But call me if you do feel drowsy, I’ll send someone in to keep you company.” Murdock maybe. Though he might count as two people right now.

The last room to check was the study, which had been converted into a temporary bedroom for Maggie and Bennett. Bennett was sitting behind the desk, the chair turned away towards the window. She turned towards the door when Hannibal came in. She was smoking a cigar. Hannibal rolled his eyes, Maggie wouldn’t like the smell of that in her bedroom.

“Sorry, Colonel,” Bennett said, grinning. “Couldn’t resist. Cubans too. You still can’t get them in the States can you?”

“No.” Hannibal took one from the box on the desk. “Well, theoretically not.” But he did have a very good supply officer after all. He let Bennett light the cigar for him. What were Lieutenants for? She seemed alert enough, so he left her to it and went back into the living room.

“Four o’clock,” Frankie said, looking at a clock on the wall. “Well over an hour. Maybe they aren’t even going to try? Maybe they think it’s not worth it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hannibal said. They needed to hold out until dawn. No way would these guys try anything in the daylight.

“Hannibal.” Madari’s voice came over the walkie talkies. “Come to the kitchen. I can hear something.”

“Damn,” Frankie muttered.

Hannibal hurried through there.

“It’s the horses.”

Hannibal listened hard, but couldn’t hear anything. “You sure?”

“Yes. I can hear them. They’re distressed.” He scowled fiercely. “If they…” Then he went pale. “Hannibal, what if they’ve set the stable on fire?”

Hannibal’s gut clenched at the hideous thought of the beautiful animals trapped in a fire. It was unthinkable, but all too likely.

“If they have then it’s a ploy to draw us out.”

Madari turned an agonised look on Hannibal. “I can’t stand here and…” He shook his head. “I can’t.” The expression on his face was nearly as distraught as the one he’d worn when he came into their bedroom a little over an hour ago now. When he’d woken them with the news that Jahni was in the hands of men ready to kill him if Madari didn’t give them what they wanted. But this was basically the same ploy and it hadn’t worked when they threatened Madari’s closest friend; so Hannibal was damn sure it wasn’t going to work with the horses, however fond Madari was of the beasts. On the other hand there could be a way to turn this around.

“They want us to open a door or a window at least, to check on the stable. Well let’s give them what they want, just the least expected place. Come on.” Hannibal turned and led the way. In the living room he called, “Murdock, follow me.” Then over the radio he said, “Bennett, meet us in the bathroom.”

They stopped on the way to grab the stepladders from the storage room and went into the bathroom.

“A sortie?” Madari said, seeing Hannibal’s plan. Hannibal nodded.

“Out of there?” Murdock said looking up at the small windows, dubious. “Quite a squeeze.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bennett said. “Come on, Murdock, you’ll make it.”

Hannibal knew he wouldn’t have a chance himself, nor would either Jahni or Frankie, who were both bulky around the shoulders and chest. BA was out of the question for that reason and because of his feet. Face was thin enough, but again, the feet. Maggie was just out of the question. But Murdock and Madari were both lean and, though it might be a squeeze, they’d get through. Bennett would have no trouble.

The bathroom was on the back wall of the house, well away from the stable. If the besiegers were trying to draw them out they’d be concentrating on the doors and windows at the front. Hannibal was convinced they’d discount these small windows. Madari went out of the room for a moment and came back with a crowbar from the toolbox. He went up the ladder and wasted no time ripping the grid off one of the windows. He handed it down to the others not wanting to drop it to clatter on the floor. Then he unlocked and opened the window leant forward cautiously to look outside, look down.

“I can’t see anyone,” he reported quietly. “And I can’t smell smoke.” He looked back down into the bathroom. “It’s about eight feet to the ground. Go out backwards and feet first. Not very dignified, but you’ll need to hang onto the window frame or it will be a long way to fall. Pass me my sword, please.” Hannibal handed it up. “Now, follow me.” He moved quickly, climbing right to the top of the ladder and turning to face into the room. He manoeuvred awkwardly and the others hung onto the ladder to keep it steady. Then his feet were out of the window, the rest of him followed. He wriggled a bit to get his shoulders though and he was gone, his sword the last thing to vanish from sight. They heard his feet thump to the ground a second later. Bennett at once climbed the stepladder, looked out and gave Hannibal and Murdock a thumbs up. She did the same manoeuvres Madari had and vanished. Murdock climbed up and performed the same contortions.

“Good luck,” Hannibal said as Murdock dropped from sight. He climbed the stepladder and looked out. The three were moving away, already near the corner and hard to see in the darkness. Hannibal pulled his head back inside and closed and locked the window. Then he climbed down, folded the stepladder up and leant it against the opposite wall. He went out of the bathroom, to tell the others about the little raiding party.


	35. Chapter 35

There was definitely someone in the stables. When the raiding party rounded the corner they saw beams of light filtering from gaps in the stable’s shuttered, unglazed windows. Flash light beams, not firelight. The horses were obviously unhappy. As well as frantic whinnying, there were regular thumps and crashes coming from the building as the animals kicked the walls of their stalls.

Madari spoke quietly. “Stay low and follow me to the wall.” They glided through the dark to the wall of the compound and began to move along it to bring them to the back of the stables. On the way there they saw men between the stable and the house, toting guns and waiting. Waiting for someone to open a door or window. Waiting for someone to walk out into their trap.

“Bennett, you stay out here,” Madari said as they slipped into the deep darkness behind the stable.

“But, sir,” she hissed in protest. “I’ve got the gun.”

“And I don’t want any shooting in there. I want you on guard. Warn us if any more of them head into the stable. Warn Hannibal if they make a move on the house.” He pointed to the side of the stable, where she could get a view of the front of the house. “Take up position that side.” Bennett looked disgruntled, but she followed orders.

Murdock followed Madari on the colonel’s signal. A low hatch in the wall yielded to a gentle push and the two men slipped inside. A faint smell in the area told Murdock what was normally shoveled through this hatch, but the ground was clean and sandy now. Inside they concealed themselves behind a partition in an area hidden from the stalls. Hay and bags of feed were piled there. There were four men in the stables, shouting and laughing. Their language was eastern European sounding, but unidentifiable to Murdock. They were aggravating the horses, poking at them with tools from the racks, flapping blankets at them. The horses were thrashing around in their stalls, unable to get away from their tormentors. Murdock and Madari risked a look around the corner to locate the men. One at each stall and one near the door. All of them had their guns holstered. They’d only try this tactic for a short time, Murdock thought. Then they’d start either shooting the horses or would set the stable alight to bring the people out of the house.

“They wanted us to come out,” Murdock whispered. “And here we are.”

“Go!” Madari snapped. They rose and charged, swords high. The men turned astonished, had no time to draw their guns before the two swordsmen fell on them.

~~~~

Outside in the darkness Bennett frowned. The attackers had brought one of their vehicles inside the compound and parked it right next to the wall. Two of them climbed on top of the car and their friends handed them up a box. They put the box on the roof and climbed up after it, then walked across the flat roof and put down the box, knelt beside it.

Bennett raised her walkie talkie.

“Come in, Colonel Smith.”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, there’s two of them on the roof.”

“Damn, thought so. Can you see what they’re doing?”

“No, I…” her eyes went wide as she saw them coming back to the edge and playing out a roll of wire behind them. “Oh crap!”

~~~~

Murdock felt something warm splash on him as he hacked down at a man. A horrible scream and the man was falling. And Murdock was spinning, ready for the next one, swinging the sword in a long arc at waist height. The man coming at him jumped back, tugging out his gun. Not fast enough. Murdock charged him, slammed the hilt down on the man’s wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. The same hand came up, smashed the hilt into the man’s face, knocking him cold. Murdock swept the gun from the ground. He turned to see Madari had somehow been disarmed, and was in close with one man, but had the better of him. The man fell in a limp heap to the ground as Madari gave him a two handed chop to the neck.Then Murdock gave a shout of alarm as the fourth man, already knocked down once by Madari, came back up, gun raised. Madari started to turn at Murdock’s yell and the man struck him viscously across the side of the head with the gun butt.

Murdock was already running, as Madari fell down. And this time he didn’t hack or slash, he thrust. Stabbed. The sword slid into the man’s shoulder and right through. The man howled. Shut up, shut up, Murdock wanted to shout. He couldn’t believe no one had come to investigate the yelling yet, maybe the horses were making too much noise. Murdock twisted the sword a quarter turn and put a foot on the man’s stomach, shoved him back. The sword slid out easily and the man fell down moaning and holding his shoulder. Murdock glanced at the fallen Madari. He was stirring and groaning, so Murdock left him for a moment, ran around collecting up guns from the four bad guys. The ones who were still alive and conscious offered no resistance. They merely stared up in terror at Murdock and his blood stained sword. Murdock retrieved Madari’s sword and ran back to the colonel, who was leaning up on one elbow now, holding his head. He looked up with eyes full of pain and confusion at the tall figure standing over him.

“Ahmed?”

Murdock grinned fiercely. Either Madari was really dazed or Murdock really, really needed to shave.

“On your feet, Ris,” Murdock snapped, offering Madari a hand and pulling him up. Madari staggered and leaned heavily against Murdock. "Now, how the hell do we get back inside the house?"

And then he heard the explosion.

~~~~

“Murdock, they just blew a hole in the bloody roof!”

Murdock let Madari slide back down to his knees as Bennett’s voice came through the walkie talkie.

“My roof?” Madari said.

“Come in here, Lieutenant,” Murdock snapped. In a moment Bennett appeared from the back of the stables. “Start tying these creeps up.” She found some rope and began to bind the men’s hands and feet. “Lieutenant you’ll stay here. Guard the colonel, he got a bang on the head, he’s out of the fight.”

Madari looked up, dizzily, protested weakly, “No, I’m fine, Ahmed. I’m all right.”

“Like I said,” Murdock said.

“But, Murdock…” Bennett began.

“Hold this position, Lieutenant, that’s an order," Murdock snapped. "There's no sense in giving up a position we fought to secure. And saddle the horses.” The horses were a possible means of escape, now their car was in enemy controlled territory.

“Yes, sir.” She responded automatically to the unusually authoritative tone in his voice.

Murdock made sure she had plenty of ammo and left the two of them another handgun. He took the other three guns he’d retrieved along with both the swords. He left the stable to find there were no men in the yard, guessed they had all gone into the house via the hole in the roof.

Murdock followed.


	36. Chapter 36

“Take cover,” Hannibal snapped, after Bennett radioed her warning. “Against the walls! Move!” Into his walkie talkie he said, “Face, BA, get under the beds.” They could hear men walking about on the roof, but Hannibal had no idea where the … The house shook as a huge chunk of the living room roof crashed down in a cloud of stone dust. The lights went out. Hannibal threw himself down behind the couch he’d seen Maggie take cover behind. He ended up on top of her.

“John!” she cried out sounding truly scared for the first time.

Hannibal had no time to comfort her. He heard the sound of the old rifle cracking as Jahni fired and he poked his head up to see dark shapes of men descend from the hole in the roof into the room, falling into the dust and rubble. Jahni got one, Hannibal saw the man twitch as he fell and he didn’t get up. But the other two shots went wide in the dark and dust and then the rifle was useless. The invaders spread out. If they had night vision goggles, Hannibal thought, then this was going to be a massacre. If not there was a chance. His people had the advantage of knowing the territory better. Dammit he couldn’t see anything, the dust filled the whole room, the shapes in the dark could be anyone, friend or foe.

One of those shapes loomed up suddenly pointing a gun. At Maggie. She raised hers but cried out again, “John!”

Hannibal didn’t hesitate. He thrust his sword at the centre of the figure. The man fell away screaming. His weight wrenched the sword out of Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal went after it and pulled the weapon out with an effort. Supposed to twist it, a distant memory reminded him, pulls back out easier. He reached back and grabbed Maggie’s hand.

“Let’s move.”

~~

Frankie crawled along behind a couch, muttering, “oh man, oh man.”

How the hell had he ended up here, thousands of miles from home, with a roof falling on his head and a bunch of Ninjas about to murder him? Had he told Rosita where the life insurance policy was? She was gonna need that. It wasn’t damned fair, there were lots of things he wanted to do yet. He wanted to see his kids grow up. He wanted to grow old with Rosie. He wanted to win the Best Special Visual Effects Oscar. Stone dust settled in his throat, making him cough as the face of the person he blamed for all of this popped into his mind. Stockwell. This was all Stockwell’s fault. If he’d never met that bastard none of this would ever have happened. Damn Stockwell.

A dark shape appeared ahead of him and Frankie didn’t hesitate. He launched himself with nearly a decade’s worth of anger behind the lunge. The two men fell to the floor in a tangled struggling mass.

~~

Face had hit the floor and rolled under the bed at Hannibal’s order. When the explosion came it shook the room, but the roof didn’t come down. He slid back out from under the bed.

Gunshots. He heard the rifle fire three times and knew that was the end of that. No sense in guarding this room any more, they were already in the house. A gun in one hand and a bread knife in the other Face stood up. Pain. He disregarded it. The little mermaid stood the pain, for the sake of love, Face was pretty sure he was tougher than any damn mermaid. He left the room and slipped into the darkness of the hallway.

“Face,” a voice said quietly as Face closed the door behind him.

“BA?”

“Here, man.”

“Living room…” Face started to say, gestured in that direction when the door from that very room burst open and three men hurtled through.

~~

Frankie’s unconventional but highly enthusiastic fighting style had taken his opponent by surprise briefly, but the attacker quickly began to get the upper hand, and now had Frankie pinned. Both of them had dropped their guns, but one lay near them and Frankie saw the man reach for it. He grabbed at the arm, trying to keep him from the weapon, but it was useless, the man was too strong for him. Frankie gave a cry as the man grabbed the gun and a split second later had it jammed against Frankie’s temple.

Frankie closed his eyes, wanting the last thing he saw to be his family, and not the grinning face of his murderer.

~~

BA and Face had fallen back instinctively, into darkness, into doorways and started firing. One man fell down, holding his shoulder and groaning. The other two took cover and returned fire.

We could do this all night Face thought. Better to get it over with.

He shouted to BA, “Fifteen.” Code number. BA stopped firing. Face did too and fell back into the room behind him. It was the study that was serving as the ladies quarters right now. Face kept falling back, into cover. He moved past a brown leather armchair with a pale blue silk nightdress draped over the back of it and wondered if it was Maggie’s or Bennett’s.

As Face moved deep into the room a man came through the door, staying low, moving fast as Face’s gun thundered. The bullet struck the door frame spitting splinters. Face moved right after he fired as the attacker returned fire. He rolled behind the desk and peeked over the top of it. No one in sight. Damn. He ducked back down, then frowned and popped back up again, grabbed something from the desk and dropped down again. He looked at what was in his hand and grinned.

~~

BA had fallen back into the box room and almost fallen over Frankie’s bed. He muttered, but kept moving quickly, looking for cover. He ducked partly under and partly through the clothes on the rail. He grabbed a long coat and winced as the hanger clattered to the floor. The man followed him inside. He could just start firing blind, BA thought. There’s every chance he’d hit me. Better get this finished quick then. He grabbed the clothes rail and shoved it hard. It skidded along the floor at the intruder, who tried to get out of the way, but he backed up against the cot and fell. BA was on him in a flash, throwing the coat over the man’s head and smashing his fists down in the general area of what seemed to be the man’s face.

The struggling attacker went limp and in a moment a dark stain appeared on the cloth. BA, panting a bit, hoped the coat wasn’t a particular favourite of Madari’s. Bloodstains never came out. Still that hole in his roof shwould probably distract him from worrying about a coat.

Then BA moaned as the adrenaline wore off and the agony of his feet reasserted itself. He sank to the floor and took out his walkie talkie.

~~

Frankie gasped as the weight was suddenly lifted off him. His eyes flew open in time to see the man who’d come within a whisker of killing him slammed into the wall by Jahni As the man fell Jahni gave him a chop to his neck and followed him to the floor, a knee in his back, one arm twisted behind him.

“Kid is definitely showing promise.” Frankie turned back to see Hannibal come up behind him holding Maggie’s hand.

Frankie grinned. “I could watch him do that all day,” he said. He struggled to his feet.

The room had gone quiet. They’d taken out all the attackers in here, but Hannibal had seen three men head through to the bedrooms.

“Colonel,” BA’s voice came over the radio. “I’m secured.”

Hannibal gave a sigh of relief. “How about Face?”

“Unknown.”

Hannibal tensed up again. “Frankie, with me, Maggie, stay with Kahil.” He turned towards the door through to the bedrooms when there was a loud yell and someone leapt down through the hole in the roof.

~~

Face could hear the man moving about quiet and careful, heading towards the desk. Face took the lid off the tub he held in his hand.

One two three. He jumped to his feet, and the scream he gave wasn’t just about shocking his opponent. He swept his arm around in an arc, and the talcum powder he carried flew out out of the tub in a wave. It was grey in the small amount of light filtering in from the doorway, but it showed him where his attacker was, as the powder settled on the man, who waved at it frantically and yelled as it hit his face, his eyes.

Before the man had time to figure out something that smelled so... pink was unlikely to be a chemical warfare agent Face fired and the man went down in a haze of powder. Face slid across the desk, scattering its contents, and fell down beside his fallen opponent. He found the gun on the floor and sat there breathing hard in the sweet smelling air. Then he started to sneeze.

~~

A wild looking figure rose from the crouch it had fallen into when it landed after dropping through the hole. Tall and long limbed the man gave another yell and raised the _two_ swords he carried.

“Murdock, will you knock it off with the battle cries,” Hannibal said.

Murdock lowered the swords and grinned. His hair was a crazed halo around his head. “Sorry. Everyone okay?”

“Just Face to…” Hannibal began when his walkie talkie squawked again and Face’s voice came through.

“Reporting secured. BA?”

“Fine man,” BA’s voice confirmed.

“We’re all okay,” Hannibal said. Through the hole in the roof the first dim signs of the dawn began to illuminate the dancing stone dust. “Any more outside?” He asked Murdock.

“No they all went through the hole,” Murdock said.

“Where’s Faris and Karen?” Jahni asked.

“In the stable, they’re safe. Colonel got a bump on the noggin, probably needs Maggie to check him out.” Jahni ran to unlock the exterior door before Murdock finished speaking. Maggie followed him. Hannibal didn’t feel he wanted to let her out of his sight, but he knew better than to come between her and a patient.

“Frankie,” Hannibal said. “There’s rope in the stable, get it, for the ones still alive.” Frankie nodded and followed Jahni and Maggie out of the door. Hannibal turned as Face and BA hobbled slowly through the door into the living room, leaning on each other.

Hannibal and Murdock both went to them quickly. BA leant against Hannibal and Face against Murdock. None of them spoke for a moment, just looked at each other in the dim light. Then BA spoke.

“Murdock, gimme one of those.” He nodded at the swords Murdock carried. Murdock frowned, then handed Madari’s sword to BA. BA just held it up for a moment, then tiredly let the blade sink slowly down to point at the floor.

“You okay, BA?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” BA said. “But better, I guess.”

Hannibal understood. Not okay. None of them was. But as the sun rose they were all better than when it had set.


	37. Chapter 37

“Man, when the A-Team throw a party, they throw a party.”

Frankie looked up at the hole in the living room roof. It appeared even bigger in the daylight. The morning sun streamed down through it illuminating the rubble on the floor and the wrecked furniture. Frankie picked up a book and blew dust off the cover, then put it on a table. The table collapsed. Frankie grimaced. He went through to the kitchen.

“The phone back on yet?” He asked Hannibal who was making coffee.

“No.” Hannibal nodded at the MPs in the yard. “See if those guys can help you out,” he suggested. “They have a field telephone.”

“Right.” Frankie had been desperate to call Rosita since it had all ended, needed to hear her voice. He hurried outside to the yard.

~~~~

Hannibal watched Frankie talking at the Captain in charge of the MPs, who eventually led Frankie over to one of their vehicles. The MPs had shown up about an hour ago. During the night the village police officer had heard the gun shots and an explosion from the Colonel's house, found his phone wasn’t working and immediately jumped into his car, driven to the next town and called the army.

After securing the prisoners the MPs had quickly extracted from them that they were acting under a pre-arranged contract, just as Hannibal had speculated. But their leader was dead and he was the only one who knew the details of who had paid them. Hannibal had spent a lot of time saying it had to be Sevchenko. It had to be his ‘revenge from beyond the grave’ as Murdock had called it. Because if it wasn’t… Hannibal shook himself. No, it was Sevchenko’s Plan B. He was certain of it.

~~~~

The others were in the diwaniya, reclining on cushions and rugs as if they had simply popped round for coffee and gossip, and hadn’t just been fighting for their lives barely two hours ago. In fact Face had got so comfortable he had fallen asleep leaning against BA. BA growled a bit, but didn’t disturb him. Murdock, half dozing himself, smiled at the two of them. Maggie had been sitting beside Madari, monitoring him but she must have felt it safe to leave him for now and went to help Hannibal in the kitchen. Madari glanced after her briefly, then caught Murdock’s eye. Murdock went over to sit beside him.

“How’s it going, Faris? Nice big lump you got on your head there.”

“I’m all right, thank you, Murdock.” Madari hesitated a moment. “Murdock can I ask you something? In the stables, why did you call me Ris?”

“I called you Ris?” Murdock shrugged. He didn’t even remember doing so. “Don’t know, sorry. I used to know a guy named Chris called himself Ris. Sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s just… my grandfather used to call me that, when I was a boy. And when you told me to get to my feet…” He frowned as if what he was saying made no sense to him. “Murdock, you were speaking in Arabic.”

Murdock laughed. “I don’t think so, Colonel. I can order coffee and ask the way to the facilities. That’s as far as my Arabic goes.”

“Oh.” Madari looked at him, then smiled. “It… it must have been the concussion.” He went silent a moment, looked thoughtful. Then he turned to Jahni, said something in Arabic, which Murdock definitely didn’t understand. Jahni reached behind the cushions and brought out Ahmed’s sword. Madari took it and stood up. Jahni and Murdock followed him up. Madari reversed the sword, balancing the blade over his arm and presented the hilt to Murdock. “Honour me by accepting this as a gift.”

Murdock gasped. He saw Bennett and BA staring up at them. BA elbowed Face in the ribs to wake him.

“Colonel, I can’t,” Murdock protested, shaking his head. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“You made it more than an heirloom, Captain. You fought for your life and the lives of your friends with it. I inherited this sword. You earned it.”

Murdock still protested, shook his head again, more emphatically, not caring about ritual, or giving offence.

“All I did was put blood on it. Your blood is… is in it.”

“And my blood would be in the ground if you hadn’t used this to save my life. Please, Murdock, take it.”

Murdock, aware he was holding his breath, reached out and took the sword. As soon as he felt the jet inlay of the hilt against his fingers a grin crept across his face and a half crazed look into his eyes. He held the sword up and let the morning light catch it and turn the blade into a flame. Where the heck was he going to keep this thing? He smiled to himself suddenly, thinking of the coffee pot he’d bought for Madari. That had just been put right in the shade.

Face muttered to BA, just on the edge of Murdock’s hearing. “How come Murdock always gets the best souvenirs?”

“Coffee, everybody?” Hannibal said as he and Maggie came into the room. Everyone turned to stare at him. Hannibal frowned. “Did we interrupt something?”

“Johnny!” Frankie, wild eyed and panting, burst into the room from outside. “Johnny!”

“What? Take it easy, Frankie,” Hannibal said, grabbing his arm to steady him.

“I gotta go home!” Frankie cried. “I gotta go home right now.”

“Okay, calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.” Hannibal put his hands on Frankie’s shoulders, forced Frankie to look at him.

“I.. I got the MPs to let me use the field telephone, like you said. He patched me through to the barracks and then to the states… Johnny, a cop answered the phone! A cop at my house!”

“What?” Hannibal’s shocked voice reflected what everyone else showed on their faces.

“He told me to call Rosie’s mom, so I did. Man it took so long to get through again I thought I would go nuts!”

“Is Rosita okay? The kids?” Maggie asked.

Frankie nodded his head, gulped a couple of times. “Rosie was there. She said two nights ago these guys were in the house when she came home. They threatened the baby, made Rosie tell them where we were. They threatened the baby! Hannibal, I’m gonna find them. I’m gonna find them and make them pay!” He shook himself. “Then… then… two of them stayed with her at the house, just stayed there. Made her cook food for them like they were guests!”

“So she couldn’t call to warn us,” Hannibal said. Frankie nodded.

“My god.” Maggie sat down heavily and Bennett sat beside her, put an arm around her.

Frankie had to collect himself again, managed to go on.

“Few hours ago they just left. Got a phone call and just left. She picked up Isabel and ran. There’s a guy lives down the street, I told you about him, the ex cop. She just ran there and he called the cops and they came and they took her round to her mom’s place and… and she’s okay. But Hannibal, I gotta go home right now.”

He was panting when he finished talking. There was silence for a moment then, his voice a little calmer, Frankie spoke again.

“I know I said I’d stay here with you guys until you were ready to go home, but you understand I have to…”

“It’s all right, Frankie,” Hannibal said. “We understand and it’s okay, because I think we’re ready to go home too.” He looked at Face and BA, still leaning on each other. They both nodded. He looked at Murdock, still holding the sword. Murdock nodded too. Hannibal turned to Madari. “Faris, I don’t know what to say. We get your house blown up and then run out and leave you to it.”

“Well, you have always been the most… entertaining guests,” Madari said, with a wry smile. “Never a dull moment. Please, don’t worry about it. I will stay with Kahil for a while and then… perhaps I will move.”

“And if you forgot to send us your new address we’d completely understand,” Face said with a grin.

~~~~

“No, no wheelchair,” Face insisted to Maggie as he and BA walked, using crutches again, through arrivals at LAX.

“It’s a long way through the airport,” Maggie argued.

“We’re fine.” BA tried to look as if he was only sweating because of the warm weather.

They didn’t have much luggage. The teams belongings were still languishing somewhere in Venice. They’d bought new clothes and suitcases in Qumar, before Farrell’s credit card finally stopped working. There was one long thin case Murdock had hated to check into the hold, but knew trying to take a sabre on board in his carry on baggage was likely to buy him a one way ticket back to the VA.

Frankie suddenly yelled and ran on ahead. Two small boys ran from the crowd waiting at arrivals and threw their arms around Frankie. He scooped them up. A moment later Rosita joined them, carrying the baby. The Santana family clung tightly to each other as they were safely reunited at last. Maggie and the team grinned at the sight.

“Sweet,” Murdock said. Maggie slipped her arm through Hannibal’s and he put his hand over hers. Then he sighed and looked at the team, his friends. They were not the same men they’d been a month ago and they still had a long way to go before they could be those people again. If they ever could be. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe this changed everything, forever. Of course it did. You didn’t recover from something like this. You just learnt to live with it. It had taken him, all of them, over a decade to learn to live with everything that happened to them in Vietnam. He glanced at BA. No. They were still learning to live with it. Part of Hannibal wanted to go and track down the men who had threatened Rosita and the baby and make them pay. He owed that to Frankie. And part of him wanted to go to Bad Rock and never again do anything more exciting than take Maggie out to dinner. And right now he had no idea which of those parts of him was going to win out.

“Hey,” Murdock said, interrupting Hannibal’s thoughts. “I just remembered something.” He looked at Hannibal. “You never did tell us how you got out of your cell.”

Hannibal laughed, surprised. No he hadn’t had he. He reached for a cigar as they emerged from the terminal into the fresh air. “Now that, my friends, is quite a story….”

_End_


End file.
